Third Time Unlucky
by Vett999
Summary: Even spies got to be the other side of the hidden camera and take the glory occasionally. But if the third time was the charm, it wasn't a good luck charm.
1. Piatti di Asporto

_If you remember nothing else, remember timing. Everything else might be perfect, but playing the right note at the wrong time is even worse than the alternative because it's not only wrong, but it also means you weren't concentrating. Oh – and don't get shot._

Edward Brooks, explaining life, undercover operations and ensembles to Rebecca

_Cesate, Milan, Lombardy. 05/01/2006._

'Two regular Bismark pizzas, potato croquettes and a bottle of coke?' said Becca, lifting up the delivery bag and smiling at the heavy-set man who opened the door. As they expected, Bravo three – the only person in the house with a clean record – was the one to deal with the takeaway, hopefully ensuring that the other two occupants would already be sitting down at the kitchen table in preparation for their Friday night pizza.

Three nodded, fishing a thick wad of euros out of his jeans pocket and painstakingly doing the mental arithmetic in his head. The majority of the notes were fifty euro – no normal person carried a thousand euro around in cash. This op was a complete waste of Mr Brooks' and her skills, though she supposed that any moron was capable of following basic instructions and, even if the occupants couldn't meet those lofty standards, the hidden cameras installed on an earlier visit had recorded just how low the bar was set: their fatal mistake in their explosives recipe would, once they'd followed the recipe a few more steps, take out the houses either side, functioning IED or not.

Three stopped riffling through the notes briefly as the door to the bathroom opened and Bravo one –messenger-boy-in-chief Silvio di Rosso – walked into the hall. Three's eyes were wide in panic and One was gawping at her, as though unable to believe that the delivery had arrived.

'Sorry about my friend,' said One, smiling weakly at her. 'I think I've got something smaller in the kitchen. If you'd just...'

'Sure,' she said, forcing herself not to react as she stepped inside the house and began following One to wherever he'd stashed his gun. Time to play off the type ones' sheet... she began swinging the insulated delivery bag, increasing the pressure inside the bottle of coke within as she palmed the pen from the pocket of her recently acquired uniform.

The kitchen looked out onto a five-by-five metre yard, surrounded by a brick wall. Or so she assumed: the window was effectively blocked by the leaning tower of pizza plates dumped in the sink. The table was set, cutlery and plates in three places around the square table, with Bravo two tucking his chair right up to edge as they came in. He was hiding something below the table: the only question was _what?_

Becca turned to her left and roughly dumped the bag onto the table to pressurise the coke a little more, the plates buzzing from the impact. 'That's fifteen euro fifty, please.'

As One opened a drawer she pulled the Velcro flap on the bag open, craning her head around to look expectantly at him. He remained facing away from her as he pulled something out of the drawer. What she could see of it appeared to have a short, rectangular handle and was relatively heavy and metallic. It was close enough.

She spun and lashed out with the pen in her right hand, stabbing it into Three's jugular.

Her left hand yanked the bottle of coke from the bag, smashing it into One's knee.

One collapsed, Berretta 92 dropping from nerveless fingers and clunking onto the tile floor. Becca took a deep breath, then reversed her grip on the bottle and shoved it into One's mouth. Blood spurted over her fingers as she yanked the bloody pen from Three and stabbed it through the bottle's neck, piercing the lid and the aerosol hidden inside.

Leaving the concealed sedative and coke to fountain into One's mouth, she drew her pistol and moved toward Two.

He jerked away from the table, holding up a grenade in his right hand, his middle finger keeping the spoon down. 'Don't move!'

Becca made a point of pretending to flick the safety. 'Alright,' she said, slowly moving toward the back door, away from both Two and the growing cloud of sedative. She took a breath. 'Just take it easy... neither of us wants to die.'

'I'm not going to fall for this negotiation crap. Fuck you.' Two stuck his middle finger up at her, the spoon flying off to clatter against the wooden cupboards. 'Oops...'

Becca took two strides forward and hit him in the face with the butt of her pistol while he stared at the live grenade.

The small olive sphere hit the floor and skittered into the corner, sitting there innocuously as her world narrowed to the deceptively peaceful ball and the fuse fizzing within.

She grabbed Two's arm, twisting it high up his back, and shoved him over to the grenade. A kick to the side of his knee dropped him to the ground. She smashed his head into the tiled floor then lay over him, pinning his torso over the live munition.

'No, no – please – please let me up! _Please!_'

* * *

There wasn't a great deal of room in the back of the panel van. Between the tall cage of communications and server equipment in one corner and the narrow desk running the length of the opposite wall, there was barely enough space for the two seats. The plain metal sides were bathed in the two computer's cold blue light, the walls pulsing green as the server's status lights flickered.

It could be the world's smallest, dullest, most headache inducing nightclub.

Thankfully, it was rare that Edward was stuck in it, he and Becca being too valuable to their under-strength team to waste inside a mobile ops room. But sometimes, like now, they needed the mobility and there was no-one else to spare. There was however, nothing to look at unless you wanted to strain your eyes watching the lights, and the bugs they'd planted two months ago had picked up absolutely nothing of interest apart from the inhabitants' regular argument over their takeaway.

But you quickly learnt to deal with dull, switching on when needed and kicking-back the rest of the time. Frankly, two hours in the van was a picnic compared with forty-eight in a grotty little porta-cabin on a flight-line.

Edward smiled as he caught movement in his peripheral vision, Oliviero beginning his routine again: fiddling with his tie, then stirring his lukewarm latte and finally scratching his head before staring intently at the side of the van, as if the grey metal would suddenly turn into a screen to allow them to see inside the target house. While he wouldn't say he made a mistake by agreeing to Oliviero Silvero's recruitment, the police to military transition was apparently proving problematic. 'As an ex-cop, shouldn't you be used to this?'

Oliviero shrugged and leaned back in his seat. 'Used to it, yes. But that doesn't mean I like it. One of the reasons I agreed to switch to the SWA was because I thought I'd have a lot less sitting in a white van and a lot more catching terrorists. I had enough of sitting around being unable to make the country better in the police.'

'You probably get more action with them than with us. Rebecca and I have had an exciting fortnight while you've been doing your probation with us – it's not all hard-arrests and tailing targets at high speed. I've been in the SWA for slightly over a year now and this is my third contact with terrorists. Most of the time it's surveillance or training and when it's not it's bodyguard duties or... other favours.'

'Favours? Like beating-up awkward journal –'

The speaker crackled. '..._ GET_... _Dau..._' Edward held one hand up as he pressed his headset to his ear with the other.

Over their headsets they could hear thumps that meant Bravo three was limping along the landing above their bug. Edward shrugged. 'We're a very expensive project – each of the girls costs millions alone, even if they're cheaper than the type one model – so having key people in Lorenzo's pocket is useful.'

They sat in silence for a moment, the only noise someone banging things around and slamming drawers, presumably getting the table ready for what would, once they'd broken the seal on the coke (and its concealed aerosol), be a very literal takeaway.

'Why'd you join?' said Oliviero, turning to look at him and dangling an arm down the narrow gap between the back of the seat and the side of the van.

'The dogsbody sent to make the suggestion to me arrived at our meeting in a Ferrari. I don't know about you, but I didn't make enough in my last job to be able to afford one of those.'

Oliviero managed to look distinctly disapproving despite lounging in his chair like a drunk. 'Does the Ferrari make you happy?'

'I don't know. I drive an A-class.'

'_An A-class?_'

Edward nodded. 'It's far more fuel efficient and I only need to be able to go at a hundred and twenty. Have the doctors given you a firm date for activating your new cybor –'

_'That's fifteen euro fifty, please.'_

That was Becca. There was no sensible reason for Becca to have entered the house, so something must have gone wrong somewhere. Edward mentally rehearsed the steps to debus and go crashing into the target's house.

There was indistinct noise over his headset, Edward pressing it painfully close into his ear in an attempt to make it clearer. _'DON'T MOVE!'_

Both of them jumped, Oliviero spilling his cold coffee all over his suit.

Becca was talking, the words too soft to be clear but slow and soothing enough to set more alarm bells ringing in his head. Three to one against was good enough, and Becca shouldn't have a problem dealing with the two extras if she couldn't disable them all – but she was trying to talk them down from something.

Edward had his headset off almost before the explosion finished stabbing into his ears and was out the van before Oliviero'd shifted so much as a centimetre.

They stuck to the plan: up the road on the house's blind side and then into the back garden, drawing pistols once safely tucked away from prying eyes. Glass littered the concrete like shards of ice. Bravo Three was a smoker and even if he had locked the back door after his pre-takeaway cigarette, the hinges were so flimsy one good kick would have them right out.

Edward held up his hand and counted down.

_Three..._

_Two..._

_One..._

He kicked the door in, quickly moving aside for Oliviero to take point before following.

Two terrorists and Becca were in the kitchen, all apparently down for the count. He crossed over to where Bravo One was lying, the front of his clothes damp and several thin cuts over his face oozing blood. Edward lifted the limp wrist to check for a pulse, smiling when he felt one clearly beating away.

Bravo Three was dead, the bloody hole in his neck and pale face confirming that, which meant one was AWOL...

His eyes went to the hole in the tiled-floor and the caked ceiling around it. Now he was looking for it, he could see the... remnants of the last one. Everyone was accounted for.

He finally turned to Becca, lying slumped against the cabinets behind him. Her bloody right arm was glistening in the sunlight, her hands and face peppered with cuts. 'Rebecca? Can you hear me?' he said as he checked her neck for a pulse and placed a hand on her chest to check for breathing. Pulse was fine, breathing was fine. He ran his hands up her legs, over her chest and...

Her left shoulder felt distinctly abnormal – she probably hit that first when the explosion threw her back. 'You take him,' he said, snapping Oliviero out of his staring contest with Becca's battered body. 'I'll carry Rebecca.'

'She needs a spinal board,' said Oliviero as he pulled his radio out to give Alfonso and Giorgio the okay to come in to search the house for intelligence. 'I'll get the medivac –'

Edward shook his head, carefully lifting Becca up to try and avoid damaging her shoulder further. 'The faster we get the intelligence decaying inside of him out the better. Besides, as long as the brain is intact everything else can be repaired.'

Becca stirred as they reached the end of the drive, several tons lighter as she opened her blue eyes and began looking around. She leaned her head against his, lighter in his arms now. 'I can walk.'

Edward let her slide out of his grip, frowning when she winced as her back slid along his arm. Moving back to Oliviero, he slipped an arm around One's back and picked up the pace, moving twice as fast now that both of them were shifting the one lucky-not-to-be-dead weight.

'You shouldn't be doing that,' said Oliviero as Becca threw the van doors open for them.

'It's not that bad,' said Becca, stepping out of the way so they could slide One inside.

'But your shoulder's broken!'

'They can just replace it when we get back. It's not a significant issue,' she added as she climbed in and closed the doors, tensing slightly as she moved her broken shoulder.

'Is there a problem?' said Edward as he and Oliviero climbed in the front, the new hire's face clearly showing he was off somewhere else.

Oliviero snapped his seatbelt into place with a click. 'No, no problem.'

* * *

_Monza, Milan, Lombardy. 06/01/2006._

Edward hated this particular safehouse. The way they drove it was only fifteen minutes from where they'd snatched di Rosso, so it should let them follow-up any leads from the initial interrogation rapidly enough that, even if Padania discovered they'd lifted him, they'd be unable to strip sites of valuable intelligence. It was just a pity that Edward had to do it here because of the time it would take to ship di Rosso back to Rome for the specialists and the clinical, clean interrogation wing.

But then di Rosso disliked the grimy, dingy apartment just as much as he did based on the sheer number of disdainful looks at the bloodstained and smelly furniture. This was exactly what was wrong with the system. Come the day of the glorious revolution, society's black sites would have proper, Italian, _handmade _uncomfortable wooden chairs instead of the cheap Ikea one di Rosso was currently sitting on.

Not that di Rosso had actually said that. Edward was reading between the lines.

Well, obscenities.

'I'm going for a coffee,' said Edward, smiling politely at di Rosso, the stark floodlights behind Edward leaving di Rosso's face even paler. 'I'll be back in half-an-hour and we can continue our conversation.'

Di Rosso sneered and spat onto the threadbare carpet. Maybe it was a statement: either way, Edward didn't care. He shoved the black hood over di Rosso's head, drawing it tightly shut, then left, locking the steel door behind him.

Becca handed him a coffee as he stepped into the small observation room next door. He smiled. 'Thanks. Any news on the laptop?'

Oliviero shook his head as Edward joined him at the one-way mirror, watching di Rosso writhe in a futile attempt to loosen the handcuffs lashing him to the chair . 'They're not going to be able to start on it until they get it back to Rome for one of the techs to look at.'

The three of them stood in silence for a while, watching di Rosso twisting and stretching in an attempt to break the chain locking the handcuffs to the floor. 'Has someone got back with his file?' said Oliviero, gesturing toward di Rosso with his empty water bottle. 'As Leon's courier we must have discovered a secret message he was delivering at some point. Even how we traced him in the first place should be enough to use against him. He's bound to have an ego bigger than the Coliseum.'

'If Rebecca hasn't told you, the phone hasn't rung,' said Edward, crossing over to the desk holding the monitoring equipment, picking up the notes Olivetti had been making during the interrogation. 'But I wouldn't recommend getting your hopes up. If Section One say that releasing information will compromise their source, the chance of it changing by passing the request up the chain is negligible.' He took another sip of his coffee. 'Rebecca...'

Becca nodded and slipped out the door.

'Have you heard from your wife yet?'

Oliviero beamed. 'Yes. She's at the hospital now with Alé. The doctors have had a look at my grandson and –'

Becca slapped di Rosso's shoulder with her left hand, the blow sending him out of his chair and crashing to the floor. He screamed, hugging his right arm tight against his chest. Becca winced, lightly massaging her left shoulder out of di Rosso's sight.

Oliviero stared out the one-way mirror.

'And...' prompted Edward.

'Er...' Oliviero tore his wide-eyes back to Edward. 'And... and – and they're very happy with his bloodwork. Alé was hysterical earlier – well, you are with your first child, aren't –'

'_You've children, don't you?' _Oliviero's head jerked around at Becca's soft voice flowing through the speaker._ 'Scream along with me then... this little piggy went to market...'_

Edward clicked his fingers twice, Oliviero turning to look blankly at him. '_Focus_, please?'

_'This little piggy stayed at home...'_

'R-right... well, they just think that he fainted. He –'

'_This little piggy had roast beef...'_

'He's alright now. He's sitting up and giggling along with the DVD that the nurse put on –'

_'And this little piggy went –'_

_Snap._

_Di Rosso screamed louder._

Edward sighed. 'The nurse put on...'

Oliviero just kept staring into the other room as Becca began explaining the merits of Mr Black and Mr Decker on her captive audience.

'The nurse put on...' prompted Edward.

'Her shoulder's broken!'

It was Jose and Henrietta all over again. 'Funny name for a TV programme.'

'She shouldn't be doing that,' said Oliviero, watching wide-eyed as Rebecca pulled a breeze block out from behind di Rosso's chair and, ever so slowly, began drilling through it. 'She's broken her shoulder. She should be in a hospital.'

'She's fine,' he said, waving the trivialities away with a lazy gesture. 'As Rebecca said, they can just replace whatever she breaks doing her job.'

'Your girl is _hurt_.'

'Rebecca is _functional_, and di Rosso has intelligence rotting away inside his skull. As long as her head isn't damaged, everything else can be replaced from the parts store. We need the intel.'

After another five minutes he went back to continue interrogating di Rosso. He'd begun to make some progress this time: names and places, though whether they were accurate or not was up in the air. Jean wanted the intel _now_, however, so crude and physical was the order of the day. The cells di Rosso couriered for were the dim, flickering bulbs of Padania, and he was no bright spark himself: hopefully that'd mean the lies would be transparent. Behind the prisoner, a small light near the ceiling turned green.

Edward left again, Becca meeting him outside the room. 'Mr Silvero's redecorated,' she said, leading him toward the other interrogation room.

Oliviero had indeed done some redecorating, using his gun to give the ceiling an abstract, _cerebral_ splash of colour.

Edward paused in the doorway, looking between the body and the exit to the cells. 'Get him dressed up like a prisoner,' he said, putting a hand on Becca's uninjured shoulder and making her pensive expression disappear. If Oliviero was too soft that was his problem: Becca shouldn't let that impede her performance. 'We're going to be nice to our guest and leave his hood off when he next goes back to his cell.' He smiled. 'Just don't forget to accidentally leave the door open when you're done.'

* * *

_Medical Centre, SWA Compound, near Rome._

Becca was sitting on the hospital bed waiting for him when Edward made his normal nine-thirty check on her. It was the first time he'd had to do this for an injury sustained in the field, though. It rankled.

'They gave you a clean bill of health?' he said as she looked up and smiled at him.

Becca nodded and jumped off the bed. 'And the usual spiel about how it was you they needed to talk to. I've got a hundred percent mobility in my shoulder again and I'm mission-ready. Was there anything in the morning briefing?'

Edward shook his head and gestured her toward the door. 'Nothing happening other than waiting on the type ones to raid the warehouse di Rossi was so kind as to tell us about.' He smiled at her to lessen the sting of his next words. 'Let's not make a habit of this, Becca.'

'Yes Sir. Is it the normal routine?'

'Normal routine. I'll see you for lunch.'

Footsteps entered the room behind him. 'Edward.'

Dr Bianchi. Just what he needed. 'Off you go,' he said to Becca before turning around to an irate Bianchi. 'Can I help you?'

Bianchi stared at him from the doorway. 'By telling your cyborg to behave herself.'

Edward smiled placatingly as Becca moved to stand next to the door. 'Of course. I'm sorry if she caused a problem.'

He was sure they'd have different definitions of _problem _this time too, but words were free.

Bianchi paused, weighing up his words. 'I have the form for you here, and the equipment is in the cart outside. Are we going to have to go through this with you again as well?'

'Rebecca is more than capable of understanding the outcomes of your tests and determining how she feels: you don't need to repeat them with me in the room. It'd be a lot less hassle for everyone if you let them sign themselves out. The second generation, at least; Rebecca and some of the others are old enough to be able to legally discharge themselves.'

Bianchi shrugged. 'You sign all other non-personal arms out from the armoury, don't you?'

And signed her on and off base every time – usually. It was a pain in the arse. 'So Rebecca is _non-personal? _Communal property?'

Bianchi waved the point away. 'Look, Edward, if she wasn't part of our programme you would have to sign her out of the hospital as her guardian, so why do we have to go through this every single time? Needing to do the tests with you present wastes my staff's time as well as yours, but that's what the regulations –'

'_All medical staff to ICU_,' said the tannoy calmly. '_All medical staff to ICU. All medical staff to ICU._'

Bianchi gave him a look that meant the discussion was only postponed before rushing away and unblocking the exit.

Edward could see the unrestrained curiosity in Becca's eyes. 'Hopefully Henrietta's lost it again and there's a terrorist spilling his guts literally before he's done so metaphorically,' he said as they left, quickly reaching the lobby and heading out of the medical annex, back to the main complex.

News travelled fast, and bad news, in Edward's extensive experience of it, travelled even faster, especially within such an isolated environment as this one. Spooks never stopped being spooks: they just went looking for gossip instead of intelligence. Despite that, Lorenzo still hadn't developed the ESP he'd need to already know that he'd had another difference of opinion with the medical staff, so Ferro's interception of them on the Chief's orders had to be unrelated. Becca watched him leave her with a nervous expression.

'Edward,' said Lorenzo as he entered the Director's office. 'Take a seat.'

Edward did as he was bid, comfortably seating himself in the leather chair on the other side of the desk. Lorenzo let the silence linger. That was fine by Edward: His entire job revolved around having the patience of all the saints in the Vatican, so a little silence was hardly going to disconcert him.

'What happened to Oliviero?'

Edward started to smile in relief before realising that probably wasn't the best expression to wear when asked about the death of a fellow operative in a safehouse where the only other witness was your own fanatically loyal cyborg. Between their fanatics and the terrorists' fanatics, it was a miracle Italy hadn't been destroyed. At least it wasn't his country. 'Rebecca was preparing the prisoner for further interrogation. Oliviero was too soft to handle a young woman doing the job.'

Lorenzo frowned. 'Preparing the prisoner for further interrogation after having being blown up and with damaged limbs.'

'Rebecca was still able to function effectively and the intel was decaying inside him.'

Lorenzo nodded and leaned back in his chair. 'There will have to be an investigation into it: someone will accuse us of a cover-up otherwise. Fortunately it's all on tape so there's little you or your cyborg can be accused of. How would you characterise your relationship with Rebecca?'

'Effective.'

'Italian has many wonderful words for you to construct elaborate sentences from. Why not sample some?'

Edward smiled. 'She's like my favourite gun-dog.'

Lorenzo stared at him for a moment. 'Hillshire regularly expenses bears and clothes to his account. Jose expenses everything from ice-cream to antique kalidascopes and only escapes a charge because our entire budget is so black it's not just buried, but somewhere underneath the pacific. What do you expense?'

He could feel jaws closing around him. 'Very little other than necessaries. We have a meal every so often and that's it.'

'Necessaries that include speeding tickets, expensive make-up and even more clothes than Alessandro's cyborg?'

He'd had an answer prepared for a while; it was even true. 'Cyborg or not, when we're practicing advanced driving, we can't always spot the undercover cars before they turn the sirens on, and as a clandestine outfit I can hardly pull out my ID to every provincial policeman I see. As undercover operatives, we need the clothes to be able to function and the make-up... call them alternative procurement. And I should say that it's good quality but not that expensive make-up, and the clothes are all from charity shops.'

'And Rebecca's trespassing?'

'Practise infiltrating a hostile environment and interfacing with civilians.'

'She was sneaking into a hotel room!'

Edward shrugged apologetically. 'If we tried somewhere challenging she might have to terminally defend herself.' And they had to have some time where Becca could act like an ordinary girl. They both savoured the hotel time – and he even paid for the room himself.

Lorenzo consulted a sheet of paper on his desk. It seemed to be an uncomfortably long list. 'The mechanics are now complaining about you twice a month.'

'Practise makes perfect, Sir.'

'The cyborgs are not authorised to drive the agency's vehicles.'

He just looked at him. Everyone knew Lorenzo turned a blind eye to a type-two cyborg driving. Even the boss couldn't be so tied by the rules as to not realise what an asset it could be where needed.

'Your cyborg has very... practical... interests, Edward.'

'I take Rebecca's training and performance very seriously, Sir.'

A smile flickered across Lorenzo's face. 'She is admirably... _trained_. Even if her initial co-ordination and control of her new body could have been just as well developed on our piano as the three figure drum-kit you bought her.'

Edward paused for a long moment, caught. 'The same skills that play a piano can't be used to play a prisoner with hammers, Sir. And it's communal property.' His voice was far too stiff.

The Director's... almost approaching jovial... mood slipped away as quickly as it came. 'According to the Medical staff, Rebecca seems to have a relatively normal relationship with you.'

Relatively was another one of those wonderfully versatile modifiers, not that he was going to let Lorenzo go fishing for more details.

Lorenzo steepled his hands, leaning forward to look over them at Edward. 'Oliviero was three days away from taking delivery of his new cyborg,' he continued as Edward climbed into his metaphorical EOD suit to be ready for the imminent bombshell. 'This is a prototype that is being created primarily for its civilian potential, but there is no harm in trying it for its potential covert benefits. Unfortunately, cyborgs don't have a shelf life.'

Ah. 'There's a difference between being independent and being able to cope with the arrival of a new baby. She's less needy than the type ones, and we have both a working relationship and a personal relationship, but the drugs could still throw a spanner in the works. Fear of neglect and jealousy toward a sister is one thing, jealousy where both my girls are constantly armed is another.'

Lorenzo stood, Edward automatically following suit. 'Are you turning down the assignment?'

And let Jean or, worse, Jose have her? Edward was faintly aware he'd just been played like Henrietta's fiddle. Well, played by someone else on Henrietta's fiddle. Henrietta was good, but she wasn't that good.

Actually, he'd been played by Rico – before she got her prosthetics. 'No Sir.'

'Excellent,' said Lorenzo, reaching out to shake his hand. 'Bianchi will show you to your new charge.'

And no doubt lecture him while doing it. Wonderful.

* * *

Bianchi looked excessively grim, even if Edward had once again discharged Becca without signing the form or getting her tested for a second time. 'This way,' he said, leading Edward through the security doors and toward the labs and orientation suites. 'What have you been told about your new cyborg?'

'Nothing,' said Edward, trying to meet Bianchi's evasive eyes. 'What has the Boss conveniently forgotten?'

Bianchi fiddled with the keypad to Observation Room 5, then repeatedly messed up his retina scan. 'Our cover is a medical research wing into cybernetic implants, producing things like artificial limbs for children.' The door beeped confirmation and unlocked with a click. 'Her file is open on the computer. At this point, physical and major psychological alterations are impossible, but we can probably fiddle with her hobbies if you like. I need to get back to ICU – Jose is stable but critical and Triela isn't much better off.' Bianchi waved him inside.

Sounded like they should have waited for corroboration before launching the raid after all. If Jose was in that state, he dreaded to think what Henrietta had done to any terrorists in the vicinity. Hopefully they got something out of the mission, even if it was where to go looking to hold a 9mm wake. It took him a moment to adjust to the dark room lit by the cold blue monitor, then looked through the one way mirror into the hospital room it observed.

And discovered just why Oliviero suddenly couldn't hack it.

Lying in the pristine white bed, cocooned in wires and tubes running to every part of her body, was a three year old girl.

On the whole, Edward was all in favour of the SWA. The public got better medical care, the state got elite clandestine – though by now maybe that should be covert – operatives, and the girls got to live longer, in a healthier state and with a happier time than they would have otherwise. Henrietta, Rico – they were fine. A three year old...

At least the terrorists would get one hell of a surprise when she – when _they _– went operational. 

* * *

A/N If anyone out there speaks Italian, feel free to PM me a better translation for the chapter title (Takeaway) than Google's.


	2. Sorelle

A/N The Junction is the slang term for the GRA/A90. 

_I knew I wanted to do something physical rather than sitting in an office staring at a screen. It was always me and my Mum, but then I joined the OTC at University because they paid me to run around and go camping at weekends. It was like having brothers and sisters; fortunately, once I got out of Sandhurst, I never saw most of them again. Joined the Det because I was bored guarding fields from Russian tanks. Joined the SWA because I was even more bored guarding fields after doing something useful. And, more importantly, it pays better._

Edward Brooks explaining to Rebecca that he joined SWA because of a deep desire to make the world a safer place.

_Main building, SWA Compound, near Rome. 07/01/2006._

_Bass and wait... aand... One-and-two-and _Crash!

Becca caught the rocking crash cymbal with the finger and thumb of her right hand, cutting short the note echoing around the empty ballroom as Mr Brooks poked his head around the door. 'I'll stop if I'm too loud, Sir.'

Mr Brooks shook his head. 'No one's complained yet, so you'll have to drum a little harder to interrupt the planning meeting for the Prime Ministerial security next week.' His smile faded.

'What's happened?'

Mr Brooks gestured for her to remain sitting at the drums. 'The warehouse we extracted from di Rosso was a trap,' he said as he walked over to the piano and dragged the stool over. 'As the type ones went in they triggered enough explosive to blow the entire place sky high. Rico and Jean were far enough away to be safe, but everyone else got banged up a little. Triela and Jose took the worst of it. Triela's hospital bound for at least a week, and Jose for a month or so.'

Becca realised she was softly drumming on the snare. She put the sticks down and folded her hands in her lap. 'Henrietta's been tranq'ed?'

Mr Brooks shrugged. 'She's non-functional, but she's in a bed in the same room now, so she's calmed down a bit. Becca...' Mr Brooks leaned forward on the stool, looking straight into her eyes. 'We're going to have a new cyborg in two days, and you'll have a room-mate.'

Becca couldn't remember seeing a new handler having orientation, and there'd have been gossiping about them if any cyborg had seen them. She'd have to ask the type – she'd have to ask Rico if any of the type ones had seen him. They spent most of their time in the compound, so if someone would have seen the new handler it'd be them. 'Who's their handler?'

Mr Brooks shook his head. 'No, Becca. We, as in you and I, are going to have a new cyborg.'

'But... you're _my _handler.'

'And now I'm also going to be her handler too. You're going to have a little sister.'

Oh. 'Like Henrietta and Rico?'

'No. The same as you, just younger. A lot younger.'

You had your handler, and he had his girl: that was how things were. A temporary loan for the good of the mission was one thing, but there was sharing and there was _sharing_. 'And you're the handler for both of us.'

'Yes, Becca,' said Mr Brooks, dragging the piano stool across the marble floor and sitting next to her. Becca spun around on her own stool to face him, the tips of their shoes almost touching. 'Just like when we're doing surveillance and we need to re-jig the teams.'

No it wasn't. 'Okay,' she said, watching him and just enjoying being close. 'What's she called?'

'Katherine.'

'What's she firing?'

Mr Brooks smiled ruefully. 'Not got a clue. She's four, is about the same size as a three year old, and the techs have re-enforced her wrists. I thought we'd start her on an RPG and work upward from there.'

The last time Mr Brooks went near an RPG he blew up a house. They did get all their terrorists and no collateral casualties, though. It was an effective and efficient use of funds. They'd also sparked a factional conflict between the two local cells of Padania. 'You're not going to get disciplined again, are you?'

Mr Brooks grinned. 'Don't worry about it: the Director wasn't as cross as the President required him to be. If you run and dress-up you can drive us to Rome.'

Becca smiled as she plucked her drumsticks from the snare. 'What are we going to Rome for?'

'New cyborg, new clothes.'

'They're really not going to like you,' said Becca as they walked toward the door, Mr Brooks' arm gently brushing against hers.

'The Director loves me really. It's not that often he has to actually justify his expenditure.'

Dressing-up didn't mean quite the same thing for her as it did for Henrietta. Mention dressing up to Henrietta and within minutes she was persuading Jose to persuade the other handlers to let them have a fancy dress party. For her, however, dressing-up meant dressing to look somewhere in her early twenties. Practically, it meant tighter tops, padded bras, and careful application of make-up. Just enough extra emphasis on top to mimic what she'd have got had she finished growing, a little make-up to take her face from teenage pristineness to adult with good skin, and a slightly more adult wardrobe. Once her appearance was sorted all that was left was to retrieve her short from her gunsafe and thread the holster a few inches from the middle of her belt, putting the sig in the holster so the barrel nestled against the top of her bum.

Mr Brooks had their one-five-six idling outside the main building when she emerged. She climbed in, checked the interference light was off, parking brake was on, gear was in neutral, the brake-light cut-out was off, the cameras weren't recording and the flashbang dispenser was unarmed, then began fine-tuning the seat and mirrors. 'All set,' she said once she was comfortable. 'Assuming we're going in casual and you made sure we're using the correct encryption for the net.'

Mr Brooks nodded. 'We're ready to go. There's no op running so we should have silence all the way there and back.'

Silence was relative: The net played a constant, low-level _hish _sound. Becca put the car into first gear, let the revs hit 2k, brought the clutch to the bite, gave the car a quick once around, then pulled away sedately. The guards on the gate just waved them through, probably meaning that Mr Brooks'd had it out with the mechanics and someone higher up the food chain had radio'd ahead to retroactively authorise her presence behind the wheel.

As the first six miles disappeared under the practically silent engine, Becca's hands got tighter and tighter on the steering wheel. She glanced periodically at Mr Brooks' relaxed expression. Any moment now... _now_...

'Go,' said Mr Brooks casually.

Becca smoothly pressed the clutch down and dropped out of fifth into neutral. Releasing the clutch, she blipped the accelerator to match her revs to the hundred kilometres an hour she was doing, depressed the clutch, stroked the gear into third, released the clutch and accelerated away, the engine singing shrilly to let her know she was in the right gear.

She could feel her driving smile creep onto her face as she shot down the bumpy straight, the soaring feeling in her mind matched by the weightlessness in her stomach as the car caught air off every rise. As she began thinking about the right hand turn ahead the engine was telling her to change up a gear anyway, so she just rested her foot on the brake to bring her speed down slightly as she drifted to the left to see further around the rapidly approaching bend and, her way clear, accelerated around, the car's left hand side threatening to take to the air.

Approaching hundred again, she changed up to fourth and blasted down the straight on the wrong side of the road, zipping past a Panda tootling along at barely fifty.

Waiting till the last possible second before the left corner, she stamped on the brake, chopping her speed from a hundred-and-twenty to thirty-five, then into third and around the corner, the pressure of the seat-belt against her chest giving way to a strip of tingling pleasure.

Immediately around the corner she was faced with a fiat barely moving. A glance in the mirrors and she flicked the saloon out into the other lane and piled on the juice, snuggling them back into their seats. A HGV was coming toward them at a hundred or so. The speedo was gliding up rapidly – they were fine. The woman – it was bound to be a woman in the fiat – had a blanket stuffed in the rear window. What was the point? It only blocked her view and weighed the car down needlessly. The HGV driver wasn't very proficient either. She'd no idea when he last washed his lorry, but if someone'd written _clean me _on one of the narrow little slats over the grille it was far too long ago. The lack of care civvies took in their tools never ceased to amaze her.

She smoothly slotted in a few meters in front of the mini and kept accelerating, rolling her eyes as the HGV's brake lights belatedly burst into light in her rear-view mirror. Scanning along the hedges by the side of the road, she could see blue lights around the double bend ahead of them. She abruptly cut the acceleration at a hundred and twenty, changing into fifth gear like a civvie and silencing the engine as they descended into the dip.

'A little slow,' they both said, voicing Mr Brooks one and only comment on her driving. She knew she was good though, otherwise he'd be telling her to slow down instead of pushing her to drive right at the edge of her abilities.

The blue lights were just a regular traffic stop as far as they could tell as they sauntered past the lay-by at a hundred-and-twenty. Once clear of the blue lights she began conducting the car again, making it sing under her hands and feet until they were so far into Rome that all they could really do was to sit in the slow lane. Well... by their standards. If she wasn't at least fifteen kilometers over the speed limit on any straight she was doing something wrong.

'What are we shopping for?' said Becca, copying the car in front and turning left into a side-road in an attempt to beat some of the congestion as they headed toward the centre.

'The usual sorts of things: Two sets of bedding; stationary and a pencilcase; diary; good quality black, brown and white leather belts; good set of boots and trainers; PT kit; swimming costume; decent waterproof; socks, underwear and three changes of clothes for her.'

Becca took a good look around their car, couldn't spot any undercover cars she knew of, then took a sharp turn down a pedestrianised alley to cut off another couple of busy intersections. The car behind them, a red peugot, followed them. Becca began mentally preparing for the next intersection, where she could turn right and take them in the same direction they'd just come from. It wasn't impossible for a car her subconscious had seen enough to flag to be making the same shortcut, but it was rather odd. 'Just three changes?'

'Yes,' said Mr Brooks as he looked intently into the supplementary mirrors, angled to let him see behind them. 'I thought going shopping would be a good first trip out for the three of us. Drills please Becca.'

The peugot made the exact same turn as them, so Mr Brooks took the car pistol out of the glove compartment and passed it to her. Becca slipped it under her thigh, butt out, as Mr Brooks put SWA's number into his mobile. No more Miss Casual.

Another three counter-surveillance manoeuvres and it looked rather like they had an incompetent tail.

'Brooks,' said Mr Brooks once he'd made the call to the SWA. 'We've picked up a tail in Rome. It's a red Peugot, registration Bravo Alpha one eight seven Kilo Zulu. The vehicle is now designated Charlie one. Can we get a tail on it please... wilco. Out.'

'Orders?' said Becca as she took a turn designed to take them away from the residential areas and enable her to start building up some distance between them.

'There's a rush job on in Milan, so no support and a new tasking for us. The registration's been logged for further investigation, though. Keep heading as you are and once we're toward the outskirts lets blow them off our tail. This car's obviously been compromised, so the mechanics can have fun respraying it tonight. Someone's heading for the Ops desk now and Jean/Rico are scrambling for our location.'

'Roger.'

Once she cleared the civilian areas five minutes later she began driving slightly less like a civvy, taking corners quicker and accelerating with a little less regard for the environment. Unfortunately, so did their tail, accelerating as hard as they could, the gap rapidly closing.

'Zero, Delta,' said Mr Brooks as he calmly took out his pistol, giving it a quick once-over. 'Charlie one going to pass us on the wrong side of the road, intention unknown. We're currently toward yellow six, intending right onto blue thirty.'

'Zero,' acknowledged whoever was on the ops desk.

In her mirror she could see the rear right window wind down, the head of an RPG emerging.

She flicked the break-light cut-off switch an instant before she slammed the brakes on, brutally hurling them into their restraints as Mr Brooks reported the contact.

The enemy car shot forward relative to them, the driver far too close to replicate Becca's manoeuvre in time to stay behind them.

A burst of flame appeared inside the peugot, a pressure wave blowing out the windows and left rear passenger door as the grenade vanished off into the distance.

'I love stupid terrorists,' said Mr Brooks happily, ignoring the rattle of metal in favour of reaching for the foot switch to activate the radio, 'don't you?'

* * *

_Main Building, SWA Compound, near Rome. 08/01/2006._

The information was like an earthquake, causing rumblings that grew from a faint swell to a tidal wave racing up the beach to tear down homes.

'It's our job,' said Hilshire calmly over the other, more indignant protests, staring at Lorenzo. 'We've been planning this for months. And we're far better suited to this than they are.'

Lorenzo held a hand up for silence. 'That may be, but in less than two days, we've had an operation go badly wrong and we seem to have had at least one car compromised, if not more depending upon where they got their information from.' Lorenzo looked pointedly at the type-ones' handlers and their collection of cuts and bruises. 'At the moment half of our operational strength is on light duties. We don't have any choice but to let Section one take over security for the Prime Minister's speech in Lombardy. Section one have also hit the address the red peugot was registered to and have discovered explosives that probably match those used in the attack at the warehouse. They're interrogating the prisoners now and will hopefully generate some leads we can follow up on. They're pushing this as hard and as fast as they can. We are, after all, on the same side.'

Edward ignored the faintly embarrassed silence that settled over the assembled section two. 'When are we going to get clearance to leave the compound?'

'Assume five days. It seems unlikely that the warehouse was anything but a pre-arranged trap if one of them was captured, and it's probable that the car was seen as suspicious once when on an operation and some low-level imitators decided to go for you. Unfortunately, Padania aren't that reliably stupid anymore. They clearly had no military training, or else they'd have opened the other window to allow the backblast out, and these days every bombmaker for Padania has sufficient training to make a relatively sophisticated bomb, never mind know how to train someone to operate a RPG. They were too incompetent to even arm the RPG properly, so, provided we haven't been damaged by Edward's car being compromised, we've a net gain of four dead terrorists and a lead on the warehouse attack.'

'It ought to be us going after them,' said Jean in a voice flecked with ice.

Lorenzo banged his hand on the conference table, irritated gaze sweeping around the room. 'This is not up for discussion. Jean, see that everyone gets some time on the car range doing contact drills. Step up your personal security just in case they have got a source, and let's make sure that we're the hunters from now on. Unless there's a major change, we'll brief again at eighteen-hundred.'

They all stood as Lorenzo got up and left.

'We're due at the range,' said Hilshire, placing his chair under the table. 'Anyone coming with me?'

'And fire into Lorenzo-shaped targets?' said Marco witheringly. 'We may have been compromised, and we've had most of our team taken out. For us to lose half of our team we're obviously too incompetent to guard the Prime Minister, regardless of how many effectives we've got.'

Jean's look was glacial. 'I didn't see you suggesting that the doorway be checked for explosives before Jose opened it.'

There was no way Edward was going to get in the middle of an argument with the two most intolerant people in the Agency. 'Sure Hilshire: Rebecca and I haven't test fired our rifles yet this week. Let's go.'

* * *

_Medical wing, SWA Compound, near Rome. 09/01/2006_

There was only so much bullshit that Edward could take, and while he didn't have a problem with a nude cyborg wandering around until they were taken off lockdown, it would raise large numbers of eyebrows if news got out. Fortunately Lorenzo saw sense and ordered someone in the public Rome SWA compound to go shopping for him before he covertly exfiltrated his own facility yet again.

It was still slightly surreal opening up a military –cleared parcel to unpack a white T-shirt with a glittery pink heart on the front, a pale blue pleated skirt, white tights with hearts on and a whole two pairs of knickers. Oh well, it was a chance for him to expand his friend making skills to the laundry staff. At least the white trainers were almost practical, and she could just wear one of Becca's T-shirts as a dress while her sole set of clothes were being washed.

The sooner they came off lockdown the better.

He put the clothes on the hanger he'd brought with him and hooked it into the recessed handle of the aeroplane-style lockers around the edge of the room. The drugs had worn off the shape in the hospital bed now, Katherine's body subtly shifted from blank sedation to peaceful sleep. No doubt Olivero had picked her because all he needed to do was find her a halo for his good deed of the decade to be completed. The women in section two thought Henrietta and Claes were in need of mothering, but once they saw Katherine... they'd probably eviscerate him for doing this to a four year old – even if it was Oliviero that condemned her to this. But you played the cards you were dealt.

Though Sandro's teasing about collecting his baby was unpleasantly close to the truth.

Katherine made an indistinguishable noise in the back of her throat, twitched a few times, then sat up, stretching her arms up as she yawned, showing him a mouth of tiny white teeth. The slightly bleary look in her eyes disappeared when she saw him, her eyes pinging wide open.

'Good Morning Katherine.'

'Good Morning Sir,' she said, her childish voice clipped with adult, military precision.

Edward started opening his mouth to tell her to sound more like a child, but realised she wouldn't know how and he wouldn't know to explain it her. 'Are you feeling okay?'

She nodded.

He supposed he ought to get the big three out of the way. 'Do you know who I am?'

'You're my handler: Mr Edward Robert Brooks. Born –'

'Okay,' said Edward, holding up a hand. Katherine stopped instantly. 'Lesson number one: Unless you're giving extra information for a purpose, never give more than you absolutely have to in order to answer the question properly. Never use ten words when two will do. Do you know where you are?'

'The Social Welfare Agency.'

'And your standing orders are?'

'Obey you and other agency staff.'

Edward looked at her guileless brown eyes. He'd soon fix the guileless but he supposed he'd just have to live with the rest. What he really wanted to do was to get out on the range and begin testing what she could shoot, but there were basic initialisation tests to be done before he began potentially testing her wrists to destruction. 'Let's get you dressed and then we'll go and do a few tests to check you're all ready to start proper training.'

'Sir.'

Edward took the hanger down and moved forward to put it on the end of her bed as she slid down onto the floor. She wasn't even a meter tall – he'd be expensing a _booster seat_. Unlike his goddaughter, Katherine showed precisely zero interest in whoever the character was on the front of her knickers, simply picking them up and shoving them on before rapidly doing the same with the tights.

'Can you manage the button?' said Edward as she picked up the skirt.

'Yes Sir,' she said as she casually undid the button with one hand while leaning over to step into her skirt. Edward knew it was a metal button and stiff enough that his goddaughter would never have managed it at her age.

Edward didn't even bother asking her if she could do the laces on her trainers up when she got that far. She struggled a little, her brain not quite up to speed with its new arm, but before too long had a functional knot in her shoes. She stood and looked around the room, a faint frown on her face. 'What's wrong?'

Katherine put a hand to her shoulder-length blonde hair. 'Is there a bobble for my hair Sir?'

Edward would have said that was a sign of acting more like a four year old, were it not that the only non-military sounding part of the sentence was bobble, and then only because there was no such thing as bobble, soldier 95 pattern. 'We'll get one for you when the facility leaves lockdown. Now, can you take me to the ballroom please?'

That type of request normally led to hand grabbing and eager pattering feet. Katherine simply gave him a faint look of confusion. 'Sir.'

All the life conditioning seemed to have taken without a problem as Katherine took him straight to the ballroom. She didn't run into the large room, or shout, or even wander over to look at the drum kit or piano. She just stood next to him, waiting for her next order.

'Right then,' he said, leading her over to the piano and pulling the stool out. 'Sit down. Do you know how to play the piano?'

'No Sir,' said Katherine as she heaved herself up onto the seat before swinging round to face the keys.

Edward squeezed onto the seat on the little girl's left, automatically putting his hands out onto the keys. Katherine copied him of her own accord, lifting her hands up to place them on the keyboard. 'I'm going to teach you how to play a melody line – the right hand – so you can rest your other one in your lap.' Edward hit middle C with his little finger, letting the note go until it faded into silence. 'That's called middle C. Can you guess why it's called middle C?'

'Because it's in the middle of the piano?'

_Dumbass_. Not that Katherine said that, but the instant, factual answer may as well have added that. 'Exactly right. Your turn.'

Katherine hit it with her middle finger, the sound just barely audible.

'Right, so I'm going to play it with you, but on the C an octave – that's eight notes – lower. Ready?' Katherine nodded. 'Three... two... one...'

_Dnnng._

'Good. So that's middle C. Now we're going to play a little tune... _See... Dee... Eee... Eff... Gee, Gee... Eff... Eee... Dee... See_.'

She mimicked it perfectly at twice the speed, even using all five digits instead of hunting and stabbing. At least with Becca it was the drums and several extra years so the unnatural ease was a little less obvious. He tried it again, but this time playing a full scale with her. The first time she fluffed it once she ran out of digits, but the second time it was more or less good enough. The techs would be over the moon in that excessively handsy and gregarious Italian manner when he told them.

'Good girl,' said Edward, suppressing the grimace as she beamed at him. It had better be possible to cut the strings on a four year old cyborg or else she was going to be useless. 'Next we're going to try chords. A chord is several notes played together, so a C major chord is the first, third and fifth notes of a C major scale.'

'C, E and G?'

Never play memory games with a cyborg - a newly activated one, anyway. Edward played the chord an octave down. 'Exactly.'

'So...' drawled Edward, his lesson disappearing embarrassingly quickly, 'what's a D major chord?'

Katherine did what he hoped she'd do, playing D, F and A. She frowned. 'That sounds wrong. Not happy like this,' she added as she played the C again.

'That's because what you're playing is a D _minor _chord,' said Edward, standing up and moving out of the way. 'Play it again, but one octave lower for me.'

It took Katherine a moment to count down where her fingers ought to be, but she was in the right place. 'Like that?'

'That's it. And over that, what would normally be your left hand, you can make up a tune using all of the white keys – except b. Like this...'

He leant over and absently picked his way through the keys, stepping up before delicately tinkling down. 'Try it again, with you playing the chord.'

Katherine was managing a rough and not-at-all-ready improvisation over a c major chord when Becca arrived, smelling of gun-oil. She was smiling, but her eyes raked over Katherine, probing and judging. 'Hello,' she said, squatting down next to the piano bench. 'I'm Becca, your big sister.'

'Hello,' said Katherine.

Becca looked at her for a moment, then stood up, tousling Katherine's hair. 'Are you going to get your guitar out, Sir?'

'Why not,' said Edward as Becca calmly went to get her drumsticks from the cupboard. He joined Becca and fished out his guitar, struming an A minor chord as he picked it up. He supposed that, relatively speaking, it was going okay.

Compared to how it could have been, a formal greeting followed by a bid for dominance and display of influence over 'the boss' wasn't that bad.

Things could only get better.

* * *

_E-Group Garage, SWA Compound, near Rome. 18/01/2006_

'That's quite a bag of sandwiches...' said Edward as Becca grabbed the key to their car from him with a beaming smile.

'I got it, Mr Brooks,' said Katherine as he got in the passenger side, reaching behind him to make his waistband holster sat more comfortably. 'Rebecca said I should ask the chefs for lunch.'

Becca grinned at him as she settled herself behind the wheel. 'I sent her at ten past eleven...'

Edward had never really thought about the side benefits having a little cyborg would bring. '... when Priscilla has her mid-morning coffee.'

'Does she?' said Becca as she checked all the switches were in the correct position. 'I'd absolutely no idea.'

'I'm sure,' muttered Edward as he turned up the net, the background noise filling the car. 'Katherine, you're in charge of communications today.'

'Ye -' There was a pause as Katherine dropped the excitement in her voice down several notches. 'Yes Sir.'

'All callsigns, Zero,' said Fero, her voice booming from the speakers. 'Your target is Charlie One, a red Fiat Punto, registration hotel-delta-three-five-six-eight-zulu-mike. The police believe it's being used as a get-away vehicle from a raid on a Padania safehouse. They're believed to be heavily armed. Last seen heading anti-clockwise along the GRA at the SS493 junction. They're being tracked via the traffic cameras. You'll get updates en-route.'

'Echo.'

'Golf.'

'Delta,' said Katherine proudly, before remembering that she should sound professional and screwing her face up in a scowl.

Edward let himself smile faintly. He could see her in the rear-view mirror, but her attention was on the gps mounted on the dash, so that was alright. Their three car convoy made a relatively sedate process out of the compound before Tibieria floored her 164.

'Echo'll cut around the GRA and try and get ahead of them,' she said as she over-took them, Nicollina looking faintly green in the passenger seat.

As this was Katherine's first time out, he'd make sure she got a relatively easy run. He keyed the mic. 'Delta'll chase them from behind.'

Now she had a goal, Becca dropped a gear and piled on the power, racing off in the 164's wake.

'I suppose that leaves us to try and parallel the road,' said Calandra. 'We'll stay this side of Rome. Any chance they're heading for the airport?'

'It's Priscilla,' said Edward as Becca squeezed past a tractor, completely at ease with going around a blind bend at a hundred-and-twenty - not that meant anything in Italy. 'She's going to go shopping just like she has every other time.'

'Oh well. When we crash, am I more likely to go to heaven the closer I am to St. Peter's?'

'Echo, Green seventy, intending green ninety.'

Edward twisted round in his seat to look at Katherine. 'Which means they're where, Katherine?'

'On the SS1, and they're going into the centre and taking the Viale dei Colli Portuensi,' she said immediately, as if she was reading from a sheet in front of her.

Edward wasn't a fan of drugs, but whichever one it was they gave them to improve their memory was very, very tempting. Becca slashed their speed and jerked them through a hand-brake turn off the track and down the u-turn ramp to the SS1. The traffic was light and two minutes later she was cramming the car onto the Junction.

'Zero,' said Ferro, 'update on Charlie one: They've just passed Pisana... Red 32.'

Edward ignored the short roll of acknowledgements that rippled through the net. Two junctions along. As long as Charlie one didn't turn off, they'd catch her. Priscilla was good at her job, but she wasn't a field agent, and she wasn't going to lose Becca without her vespa.

They made decent time, Becca wringing out an average speed of a hundred and twenty kilometers an hour despite the congestion. She was only making progress by weaving in and out of the lines of traffic, though, and the closer they got to their quarry, the more likely they were to miss it by getting stuck the wrong side of a COOP lorry.

Swinging across two lanes, Becca successfully juggled their speed to glide them through to the inside lane unharmed. And what was three more horns to the cacophony of Italian driving? She dropped two gears to red-line them past three lorries just in time to catch the gap opened up by the aforementioned COOP lorry making its ponderous way back into its original lane.

Edward spotted Charlie One the same moment Becca eased off slightly, blending in with the other pushy Italian drivers. The punto was sitting two lanes to the right, behind a covert police car: the tinted bullet-resistant glass was dead giveaway.

The question was, would Katherine spot it?

The seconds stretched, but she did notice once they'd crept close enough to read the numberplate. 'Delta,' said Katherine happily, 'eyes on Charlie one... one person ins – _one-up_, female driver. Intending straight on toward Red 31... speed... seventy kilometers an hour?'

'Echo.'

'Golf.'

'Zero,' said a male voice, Ferro no doubt off to do something else before having to put her ops hat back on again. It ought to be one of them on the ops desk, but there were barely enough of them to operate on the ground, let alone rotate through running the ops desk too.

They let the traffic carry them away from Charlie one, moving to keep it just on the edge of their vision, bobbing in an out of sight through the sea of vehicles. Edward flicked the vents closed as they moved behind a swiss lorry with a particularly noxious exhaust.

'Delta, Golf,' said Tiberia as they passed the UniEuro, a steady-stream of people coming out laden with large boxes having taken advantage of the annoying advert on the TV. 'Hand-off at Red 32?'

'Delt -' said Katherine as Charlie One careened across two lanes and off the Junction, skidding up the slip-road. 'Charlie One exiting Purple 32.'

That move potentially left them isolated from support for a while, should she choose to turn right. Becca had already begun to react, nimbly darting the car into the outside lane and preparing to follow more directly than preferable. But then everything about their unit was more direct than preferable. They should really have access to a helicopter at a minimum.

Either Priscilla hadn't been concentrating - which, Priscilla being Priscilla, was always possible - or she'd made them.

'Tonight...' sang a woman's voice, Becca turning to give him an arch look as Charlie One followed the sliproad right to the via della magalina, leaving them unsighted. 'I'm gonna have myself... a real good time. I feeel ah-lie-eye-eye-eyeeeve. And the furled, ii-in sy doubt...'

Or Charlie One was a q-car, and Priscilla was listening to the net.

Becca accelerated up the relatively clear slip-road, slowing just enough to check the junction was clear before swinging out in pursuit of Charlie One. As much as Priscilla might be singing about being a racing car, she was clearly not a driver of one: they may have been unsighted briefly, but Becca and Katherine caught a glimpse of her car slipping around the bend and out of sight.

Becca drove like she'd been caught drawing a moustache on Jean, rapidly moving through the gears as she hovered the rev needle barely below the maximum. Unfortunately, the area was a warren of different roads Charlie One could have bolted down.

'What should you be doing now, Katherine?' said Edward, catching her staring intently ahead of them in his mirror.

'Ummm...'

'As we pass a road, check to make sure the target car's not turned off and gone down it. If we're not lucky, we'll lose her here.'

Half-way through Priscilla's rendition of La Nostra Vita, they caught sight of her car, driving along perfectly happily at the speed limit.

His P900 rang. He waited a second to make sure Becca started to back off slightly before hitting the accept button. 'Brooks.'

'Mr Brooks, are you getting what we're getting?' said Nicolina, Edward clearly able to hear Priscilla within the background noise at the other end of the phone.

'Yes. Priscilla's probably slipped and doesn't realise she's blocking the net.'

There was a pause, as if she was relaying information to her handler. 'Are you still following her?'

Edward would bet money she was paraphrasing Tibieria's comments somewhat liberally. 'Yes. We'll move to intercept and sort it out. Brooks out.'

'Shall we aim to stop at the Gasauto, Sir?' said Becca, dropping down a gear as she accelerated out into the left-hand lane.

'That'll be fine,' he said as they zipped past the traffic ahead of them. 'We can wait there for the others.'

She flicked the wheel and they swerved into the correct lane just long enough to avoid a gaggle of teens on mopeds. 'Do I have time for a coffee?'

'Get one for Priscilla too.'

Becca didn't even pause at the implication. 'You want me to stop her?'

'Yes.' They had to practice forcibly stopping hostile cars too, and the outdoor range simply wasn't the same as doing it for real, even if there was the chance of collateral damage.

Her lip curled slightly as she sucked her lower lip between her teeth, no doubt running through the possible escape routes in her head. They overtook Priscilla just past the sewage treatment works, gliding in front with plenty of space between them and the clump of traffic heading in the opposite direction. After a few moments, Becca slowed them down as if turning into one of the houses, managing her speed to trap Priscilla behind her with the unwitting assistance of the oncoming cars.

'That was boring!' said Katherine as Edward stuck his head out the window, gesturing for Priscilla to follow along behind. 'Henrietta and Rico said that cars were fun and they got to use full auto.'

'Henrietta,' said Becca, smoothly pulling away as Priscilla - now serenading them with Pink Floyd - flashed her headlights, 'leaves bullets and blood behind her in equal measure. Terrorists don't talk when they're dead. And do you want to be an expensive pneumatic drill or a useful asset?'

'I _am _useful!'

At least they were bickering like siblings, even if it wasn't how he'd choose to have Katherine express her inner four-year-old.

Priscilla finally stopped singing as they pulled into the petrol station, replacing the music with background noise from her still transmitting mic.

'Do you want anything?' said Becca as she parked behind Priscilla's Punto.

'Tea, if you're risking it,' he said as he clicked open his seat belt. 'Katherine?'

Katherine frowned, her forehead creasing in intense thought. 'Can I have a...the red thing... a fizzy drink?'

'No. That's entirely too much sugar in one go.' Though if she performed as expected, he'd think about a chocolate bar at the end.

'Orange juice?'

'Orange juice it is,' said Becca, undoing her own seat belt and opening the door, letting in the sharp smell of petrol and the faint noise of traffic from the Junction.

Edward followed suit, walking over to Priscilla's car and opening the passenger door. There was a large bag of what seemed to be Portugese textbooks sitting in the passenger footwell. He picked it up, the silence of transmission immediately ending as the weight left the passenger foot-switch. 'Just so you know for next time,' he said as the _hish _sound of the non-transmitting net flooded back over the speakers. 'If it's all silent, you've pressed one of the switches. But it's alright,' he added as Priscilla went red, 'it was a wonderful rendition of Don't Stop me Now.'

* * *

_Agent Provocateur, __La Rinascente, Milan__. 30/01/2006._

Becca touched Eve's arm lightly and they both moved through the busy shop toward the rail of discounted bras by the large glass window. Eve began flicking through the rack, tilting her head from one side to the other as she scrutinised them.

'Bravo one is about to turn in,' said Callandra in their earpieces.

'What about this one?' said Eve, holding up a black bra that could just have easily have been made by duct-taping two bits of fishing net together.

Becky looked slightly behind the shorter cyborg, scanning the faces bustling past below. 'If you're going to wear that, why bother? There's no support. If you're going to buy expensive underwear, buy the bulletproof ones the German police are getting made.' She turned her head slightly, following a male with short brown hair and a black jacket with a frayed seam at the shoulder. Was that... that was him. 'Four has eyes on Bravo One,' she whispered into her mike as she shifted to film him with the camera concealed in her handbag.

'You're so boring you think watching paint dry once a month is more excitement than you can handle,' said Eve, dropping the bra back on the rack. She pulled a violently pink one out. 'What about this? Callandra likes pink,' she added, her voice so low Becca could barely hear her.

'It's see through.'

'That's the point.'

Bravo one had stopped now, loitering by the bin and glancing nervously at his watch. 'Why would she care what bra you wear as long as it gives you enough support - _unlike that one_.'

'It'll happen to you one day,' said Eve, looking mutinous as she began hunting through the rack again. 'You'll wake up one day and whatever defective programming they did will be fixed; I'll help you hunt for clothing to seduce your handler and won't say I-told-you-so once.'

'Because you'll say it repeatedly.'

Eve shrugged as she ran her fingers over a baby-blue shelf-bra. 'Probably.'

From their elevated vantage point, they could see Bravo One reach into the bin, fumbling around inside. 'Bravo one is reaching into the bin,' said Eve over the comms, seemingly muttering under her breath as she tried to find something suitable on the discount rail. 'He seems to be looking for a particular item.'

Becca shook her head as Eve lifted something frilly and insubstantial up. 'Zero, what's the CCTV coverage like? If he's fishing in the bin, we might spot someone putting it in.'

'Zero, Zulu,' said Olga. 'I can do that. If he's digging in the rubbish, no-one's going to be coming out of Rothschilds with his package.'

Below, Bravo One pulled out a McDonalds cafe bag like any other that littered the area around the covered arcade, had they all been sealed with sellotape and thrown away while still crammed with something that, judging by the expression on Bravo One's face, infected anyone who touched it with norovirus. 'He's retrieved a McDonalds cafe bag from the bin, and is moving toward the square. We've no idea what's in the bag, but he's not comfortable with it.'

'Golf has the target,' said Tiberia. 'Intending toward the Cathedral.'

'Six and Four to Purple sixty,' said Eve, looking at her watch in false alarm before dragging Becca away toward the escalator. 'So... you and Edward...'

Becca supposed gossipping was useful cover in practice, even if it was completely unprofessional in principle. 'Aren't an item. He spends most of his time with Katherine anyway.' She wasn't exaggerating either. Despite what he'd said about her being equally important, she'd only spent twelve hours with him over the last two weeks, and half of those were because she was training with Katherine. Professionally, she knew that it was sensible and at the moment Katherine needed him to get her trained up - and she was a long, long way from being someone Becca'd willingly work with, but there was only so much professionalism could cover.

At least Katherine was four instead of seventeen - Becca'd always be the senior partner and the most useful and versatile asset.

'Bravo one is in line for the Cathedral,' said Callandra. 'He's stuffed the bag underneath his jacket. He's two from the Carabinieri on the door.'

Emerging from the shop, they turned and walked briskly in the direction of the piazza, Eve's heels clicking a brisk beat across the cobbles as they moved to cover the rear of the cathedral.

'Golf, four,' said Becca. 'Six and I'll join the queue.'

'Rog... he's refusing to open his jack - they've drawn their guns. Bravo One's on the floor. They've got their cuffs out.'

Becca was all for stupid terrorists, but not when they forced the police to get involved. Eve sped up, dragging Becca along in her wake. They represented two thirds of the cyborgs on the mission and, as Nicolina was cruising around the city in a car, were the only ones available if they needed to flex a little muscle.

Which would mean the mission had really gone down the pan, but they'd deal with that when it happened.

'Zero,' acknowledged Ferro, the pause long enough that she'd clearly been consulting with someone else. 'Golf, stay there and make sure he's being arrested. Everyone else, lift off and return to the agency. I'll send Marco to get them to remand him into our custody.'

They slowed their pace, walking past the cathedral and turning down the via Agnello, looping around to the north west. They were in Milan, so they couldn't relax - not that they ever truly relaxed outside the compound, but they could walk around without pacing themselves against a target's anticipated route.

'Four and Six, Golf,' said Callandra in the earpieces. 'Pick-up at Red twenty in thirty minutes.'

'Six,' acknowledged Eve.

Through being effectively without a handler for weeks, Becca had become familiar enough with the off-the-job habits of the other handlers to know that there'd be no stops on the way back to Rome; they would be getting back at eight, practically nine by the time stowing and cleaning equipment was added. Not to mention that their lunch had been spoilt by their target only stopping long enough in the cafe to annoy the waitress and complain about the coffee. 'Golf, Four. Do you want anything? I'm going to get a sandwich.'

'No thank you Four.' Always the faint tone of surprise...

'You?' she said to Eve as they slipped around a clump of tourists with a very loud, very German tour guide shepherding them in the direction of the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele.

Eve opened her mouth, hesitated, then shook her head. 'I'll eat when we get back.'

'You'll regret that later,' warned Becca, aiming to sound like a mother she'd seen on a TV in an electronics shop, but to her ears sounding more like Mr Brooks when he was trying to not sound like she'd let him down.

Eve did regret it later. After crawling into the agency at half-past eight, Eve rushed through stowing her equipment into her locker, leaving Becca to finish cleaning her Sig by herself. In the end, a desire for sleep and a shower won over finding out what the duty-cook had made for supper, so she headed for the cloisters and her room.

She was almost bowled over by Katherine as she entered the dorms, the new cyborg dodging past her without stopping. She might be a midget, but she could move. Couldn't do a lot else, mind.

'Rebecca?'

Becca turned back from the metaphorical dust-cloud left by Katherine to find Henrietta and Rico walking toward her with a white towel each and puzzled looks on their faces. It was too late at night to be asked about whether Daz really made things whiter than white, especially if the discussion got existential again. 'Yes?'

'Have you seen Katie anywhere?' said Henrietta, peering up at her with wide eyes. 'We were playing together and then she just ran away.'

_Katie?_ She really ought to put a stop to whatever hare-brained scheme the pair had cooked up, but... 'She went that way,' she said, pointing over her shoulder before carrying on to where her bed was calling her.

She was the sensible one, but even she had to be seventeen sometimes.

The fact that Katherine was monopolising Mr Brooks had nothing to do with it.

* * *

_Pontecoperto, near Rome. 28/02/2006_

Eve always said that night operations were the cyborg equivalent of stopping your girlfriend's vespa by the side of a country road, then lying in the field looking up at the stars - which was one of the stranger euphemisms for Callendra's breasts Becca'd heard, but she almost agreed. Sitting in the Alfa in the dark, they could be anywhere and completely alone. You didn't know your handler until you'd seen them waiting for action, and you didn't know them properly until that action was taken away from them at the last possible moment.

In the dark, she could practically feel her handler's quiet breaths as the cold mist wafted out to disappear against the windscreen. Even if they were bundled up against the cold, it was warm, cozy and intimate - the two of them in the meditative gloom.

'Can we eat at the Compound?' piped up the interloper.

At least Katherine was in the back, where Becca couldn't see the fidgeting. She'd learn to switch on and off at will before too long: Becca had.

'Depends on them, as always,' said Mr Brooks. 'And you're not going to get anything substantial at eleven on a Sunday.'

'That's what the sandwiches are for,' added Becca, reaching into the picnic bag behind Mr Brooks' seat and rummaging around.

Katherine sighed. 'It's _always _sandwiches.'

'It's always sandwiches because we're always in demand.' Her hand came into contact with foil and she picked the package up, gauging its height... that was one of their club sandwiches. She turned to look out the rear window as the faintest whine of an underpowered engine caught her ears. When it faded away after a moment, she returned her attention to rooting through the bag by feel. 'Here we go,' she said, picking up a thin foil-wrapped tuna sandwich. 'Catch.'

Katherine caught them and dumped them on her lap.

'Zero, Zulu,' said Soni over the net. 'Charlie two has arrived, two-up. Both occupants unknowns. One is foxtrot toward the - he's running for the house. Wait out.'

She caught Mr Brooks' eye and gave herself a mental shake, sloughing off the comfortable fug of gloom. Nothing at this stage of the op should require a wait-out. Hopefully it was something good, like a crate full of Chinese AK knock-offs. Padans being Padans, she knew from experience that any package was more likely to contain skincare products than anything interesting , but she could hope.

'They're evacuating. We've...' Soni's voice tailed off for a moment. 'We've got _five_ cars leaving.' _Where had the extra two cars come from?_ 'Charlie two: The unknowns, turning left...' That was down their way, and all the other attendees were so well known, Becca literally knew their children's favourite colour. Her ears dragged her attention back to the net at Soni's deceptively calm, 'Bravo three complete Charlie three: left.' Follow the unknowns... or Padania's Belarusian "explosives consultant"? 'Probable ID on _St. Louis_... complete Charlie one, right.'

There was a pregnant pause over the net. Years of whispers and two ill-lit photos, and now they possibly had one of the string-pullers in their lenses. And, typically, it came in a veritable smorgasbord of targets. They were only here for Bravo three and when they had multiple high-value targets, they called in a plethora of support from multiple agencies; they only had five cars between them and barely enough manpower to follow one target with any sort of reliability.

But if it was a meeting of sufficient importance to drag a major player not just into Italy, but into Rome itself...

The other two cars were relative small-fry. As soon as their occupants were confirmed, Mr Brooks leapt straight on the net. 'Zero, Delta. We'll take Charlie two. Can you get a chopper for Charlie three?'

'Not in time,' said Ferro immediately. 'Everyone else, tail Charlie one: We'll pick up Bravo Three again before too long.'

'I can see lights,' piped up Katherine.

As Becca twisted to look over her shoulder, she hit the foot-switch for the radio, stealing the radio before the run of acknowledgements could burst over the net. She had lights... it was a match. 'Delta has Charlie two.'

Mr Brooks stretched and sat-up in his seat as Charlie two's lights disappeared around the bend. 'Hold your horses Katherine,' he said as Nicolina claimed Charlie one. Turning to look, Becca could see Katherine staring out the windscreen, as fixated as a gen-one with a firearm. 'We're waiting for...'

A second set of lights appeared behind them, flashing around the bend with enough speed to make the doppler unpleasant. 'Now we go,' said Mr Brooks, starting the engine and letting the car roll down the slope, lights still out.

While it was a risk, both physically and clandestinely, Mr Brooks kept the lights out until the two cars were well out of sight, just in case the terrorists saw their lights come on and realised there'd been a car sitting on-top of the only road out. Mr Brooks kept his distance from the cars, just catching the tail-lights of the second car ahead as they made their way briskly down the gently winding road, the staccato ebb and flow of the main pursuit filling the net.

And then the lights stopped appearing around the bends.

Mr Brooks put his foot down, Becca shifting gently in her seat as he powered through the slight bends and onto the straight. Her vision had that faint green tinge now as she stared into the night. It had been a nice easy run, just sitting listening to the rest of the team tailing Charlie one up the SP4a, but with only one car, it was never going to be easy for long.

'Eyes on,' she and Katherine chorused, Charlie two bursting into light as the driver slammed the brakes on to veer around the corner toward Ceri, barely keeping the car under control.

With Charlie two turned off, they could see another set of lights ahead of them, racing away at a speed far too high to be a civilian. It could be, but under the present circumstances it was unlikely: each car would be trying to separate itself from the others as much as possible, as soon as possible. For a given value, anyway - thankfully actual professionalism was a rare commodity, even when you started climbing the terrorist ladder.

'This could be interesting,' said Mr Brooks, rapidly closing the gap as the car disappeared around the corner.

It took Becca moment to make the connection: Valcanneto. A small village, meaning residential, interconnected, roads; scores of places for dickers to hide and three exit roads to be watched. But just one car to do it in.

Shortly afterward, Charlie two turned away from the motorway and into, as Murphy dictated, Valcanneto.

They hung back as long as they dared, the turn-off taken by Charlie two leading to a long straight that would broadcast their lights for everyone in to see. 'At least this will slow them down,' she said as Mr Brooks casually swung the car around the corner and into the village. The houses were almost all behind walls in this section, meaning that, if they were unlucky, Charlie two could swing into a house, shut the gate behind them, and they'd never know. At least at night they might spot exterior lights coming on. But they might strike gold and find the car parked up by the side of the road as, judging by the checkerboard of cars running along both sides of the road, no-one had enough parking inside the walls.

And while she was having pipe dreams, they might also stumble across all of Padania's top brass who wanted nothing more than to peacefully surrender.

Up ahead, lights blazed and horns blared as Charlie two, not slowing whatsoever, forced their way through the narrow space left by the parked vehicles, barely missing an oncoming car.

'Or not,' said Mr Brooks as Eve reported Charlie one turning onto mauve sixty,Becca updating her mental map of the two operations. 'Katherine, keep any eye out for gates shutting, outside lights coming on or people walking down side roads.'

At night, in tight spaces like this, Becca had a deep mistrust of houses with no lights on upstairs: it was too easy for dickers to spot you - all the terrorists needed was to drive a set route, a friend in each house or a parked-up car to keep tabs on any vehicles pursuing. Up ahead, Charlie two shot around the roundabout, the car barely under control as it turned right and left them unsighted.

There was always little margin for error between too close and too far, made worse because those distances changed along with the terrain. As they rushed to catch-up, Becca turned to peer down the roads on the left. If it were her, she'd immediately turn down...

'They've taken the no-entry.'

Mr Brooks immediately sped up, slowing just enough to check it was safe to turn into the next road. Thanks to the parked cars, the road was only big enough for one. Becca had enough faith in her handler's abilities not to worry about the speed they were taking the head-on course, but if the civilian in the potential on-coming car wasn't on the ball they were going to have a smash and lose their target. Becca's foot danced between a phantom brake and accelerator as the risk of being rendered ineffective and the risk losing the target fought for dominance. Thanks to the gardens either side they couldn't see a thing: they were going to have to burst out the top and hope.

Pausing at the top of the road, the three of them quickly scanned right and left. Charlie two was racing away on their left, continuing to drive at high speed the wrong way down a one way street. Mr Brooks turned right and drove as quickly as he dared, pushing to get to the next street over. They simply couldn't risk the heat from following down a one-way street, especially one that led to a roundabout which led to one road out, one dead end, and one road that sent you straight back the way you came.

There was only one right answer, and you could guarantee Charlie two wouldn't be taking it.

Even tailing them this far was gambling on the houses being free from dickers and, given that most of the team were gone pursuing St. Louis, it wasn't a bet Becca was comfortable taking. Katherine was being useful, at least: Becca could devote the bare minimum of attention to the net knowing that Katherine would be all too eager to monitor and respond as needed, letting her and Mr Brooks deal with the target and assessing just how much more heat they could take.

'The road on the right links with brown twelve,' she said as Mr Brooks pulled out of the Via Dominico and headed toward the roundabout at a civilian pace.

It was a question of relative speeds now. If Charlie two stayed at the eighty-odd kilometres they were doing, they ought to see them in five or six seconds. If they didn't, they were going to have to red-line the engine to get back onto the Via Doganale if they weren't to lose them.

Mr Brooks swung into the road on the right, not bothering to indicate. He dove past the two sets of gates on the left, parking by the patch of grass before dousing the lights.

A moment later Becca's mirror caught Charlie two zip across the junction behind them, doubling back on themselves to check for a tail. To follow them now ran the risk of raising a flag if they'd been spotted for a second time at the top of the hill. 'They're not running scared, Sir.'

'Maybe not,' Mr Brooks said, apparently coming to the same conclusion she had and moving off toward brown twelve, 'but if they carry on like that they're going to get themselves pulled over for speeding.'

Katherine laughed.

Becca's gut tightened up in that familiar prickle of potential. 'It might look like amateur hour, but they were meeting _St Louis_. Amateurs don't get seats at those meetings.'

Mr Brooks smiled grimly. 'Which begs the question: are they pants at dry-cleaning, or have we been taken to the cleaners?'

And, even if they were, could they afford to let the two unknown participants at the meeting disappear?

'Zero, Delta,' said Mr Brooks, turning to take them back toward Via Doganale. 'Lifted off Charlie two in Valcanneto: it was getting too hot. We're going to try and re-acquire them once they've finished clearing their tail.'

'Zero.'

Assuming, of course, they didn't switch their car, but there wasn't anything they could do about that currently. The question was... what bolt-hole were the terrorists fleeing to? No matter how good you were, sooner or later, surveillance came down to luck: skill only tipped the odds in your favour.

Murphy, unfortunately, trumped luck every time.

* * *

_Palidoro, near Rome._

As usual in their under-strength and under-resourced unit, they were relying on experience, intuition, luck and, mostly, incompetence on the part of their quarry. In this particular case they were parked just off the SS1, the receding tail-lights of the cars twenty meters away on the other side of a grass verge. Given standard operating procedure, the goal would be to separate from the other people at the meeting as much as possible, which probably meant Charlie two turning south toward Rome - and this was the only main road they had.

'Charlie one turning east onto Brown sixty-seven, and we're unsighted,' said Eve over the net.

'Echo moving to intercept.'

Becca twisted slightly in her seat to rummage in the picnic bag behind Mr Brooks' seat, pulling out two foil-wrapped sandwiches and dumping one in her handler's lap. They listened to the net in silence as they worked their way through the meal, grabbing the down-time they'd been given. The net was the ultimate reality show: entertaining and thrilling and deadly boring in equal measure. It was what Big Brother dreamed it could be.

'Charlie one turning right onto Blue sixty,' said Nicolina.

They were well enough concealed that the lights from the cars didn't touch them, their only illumination the soft light escaping through the drapes of the apartments that lined the street. Katherine was slowly coming down from the operational high, her fidgeting and craning to track every car on the SS1 disturbing the calm less and less frequently as the soothing drone of the net played in their ears.

'Anyone have eyes on Charlie one?' said Nicolina, the faintest hint of concern in her voice. 'Last seen turning left onto Yellow fifty-one.'

The rest of the terse exchange passed Becca by. Maybe they'd made the wrong call: if they'd been there the extra car might have been enough to keep tabs on St Louis. Mr Brooks' hunch needed to pay off, or else they were coming home with nothing from what could have potentially been an intelligence bonzana. But there were so many directions Charlie two could have gone... who was to say they'd take this one?

'Zero, Zulu. We need an NBC team to Alpha one. There's a hidden vehicle lift in the barn; they've got an arsenal down here... there's also an empty lead-lined trunk.'

Becca's stomach went into free-fall. She glanced at Mr Brooks, wondering if he had sickening sensation she did. That was all they needed, Padania in possession of radioactive material.

'Making the call now,' said the duty signaller as if she'd ordered a pizza. 'They'll probably be an hour or so.'

'Roger.'

Becca clamped down on the nervous energy that flooded her: the last thing she needed was to turn into Katherine. But they really, really needed to re-acquire one of their targets now. This was one event they couldn't afford to let slip through their fingers.

She tuned out and listened to the gradually rising tension over the net as the rest of the team cruised the ever expanding sphere Charlie One could have driven into. Being given the slip was part of the job, but sometimes that simply couldn't be allowed to happen - like now.

Shit rolled downhill in the military, and she could imagine the reaction the Defence Minister would get when she briefed the PM about how they'd lost a key group of terrorists who might also have material for a dirty bomb. Cyborgs were normally insulated from the blame game, but along with her unit giving cyborgs a bigger say in operations also came a bigger share of the blame when things went wrong.

Becca depressed the foot-switch as, an instant later, Mr Brooks began preparing to re-join the SS1. 'Zero, Delta. We have Charlie two.'

Mr Brooks had a faint smile on his face as they merged onto the SS1, Charlie two's lights just within Becca's vision. This, frankly, was why they were going to win: lack of basic trade-craft from the opposition - not that she was complaining.

The opposition were also apparently under the misapprehension that, having done one lot of dry-cleaning, they didn't need to do any more. Charlie two seemed to be proceeding at a sedate pace straight down the SS1, not even bothering to drive slightly under the speed limit so to highlight cars that failed to pass them. Even better, on a road like this it was perfectly reasonable to have the same car sit behind you for mile after mile. As their Alfa was already exposed thanks to the earlier pursuit it wasn't an option for them, but it did mean that they wouldn't get twitchy about distant headlights.

Becca wondered what the terrorists would say if they knew they were virtually driving straight past the agency.

She would have said it was anti-climatic, but she knew what would happen if she dared say anything like that out loud. Murphy could keep his nose out from this point on.

'Zero, Delta,' said Mr Brooks, catching a pause in the comms for the on-going hunt for Charlie one. 'Have a mechanic scramble a q-car for the bridge over the SS1 sliproads by the base: this car's too hot. ETA six minutes.'

'Zero.'

At the signaller's acknowledgement, Becca popped the glove-box open, grabbing the car pistol and first-aid kit in preparation for debussing.

Mr Brooks stopped her with a shake of his head. 'You'll need those.'

Her heart was thudding in her chest like she'd been running the obstacle course for several hours. She held back an answer just long enough to keep her voice cool. 'Sir.'

He wasn't fooled if raised eyebrow he gave her was anything to go by.

The slightly detached air inside the car evaporated as Mr Brooks skidded to a halt at the top of the exit ramp, belt off and door opening even as his other hand fought to get the car through the small gap in the barriers and up onto the narrow country lane running between the two sliproads.

Becca dived across the gear-stick as Mr Brooks dived out and into the new car. As she settled into the seat she knocked the car into first and her right foot depressed the accelerator, the car already moving across the lane and down the slight drop to the other sliproad.

She yanked the door closed just before the car squeezed the rest of its bulk through the gap in the barrier. She smoothly accelerated to a hundred and twenty-five kilometers per hour, reaching across to retrieve the car pistol as she checked the traffic in preparation to merge back onto the SS1.

The entire procedure had taken under a minute and, barely thirty-seconds after getting back on the motorway, they could see Charlie two's taillights. 'Four has Charlie two. Estimated speed one-twenty, continuing south toward Rome.'

'Zero.'

'Delta going for a head to head pass,' said Mr Brooks.

Which in practice meant that they were on their own for a while as, south of the Agency, there weren't many options for getting ahead of a car on the SS1 until they hit the Junction. None that were available to a car already behind, at least.

The drive passed in silence, Becca riding hard on the urge to read more into Charlie two's position than justifiable. The earlier she could give her handler a firm indication as to direction, the sooner he could commit to the head to head and the sooner they could confirm that they were still chasing the two unknowns.

Three miles later, their quarry finally got in lane for the mass of overpasses and sliproads up ahead. 'Charlie two intending left onto red one,' said Katherine.

Becca could imagine Mr Brooks dropping three gears and roaring off through La Massima to beat them to the next junction. At least now they could have three watchers on them.

'Zero, Delta,' said Mr Brooks, beating her to the net by mere moments. 'Can you monitor the traffic cameras?'

'Zero.'

Becca could feel her senses sharpen as they approached the A90. If this were her, she'd dart across lanes at the last possible second, losing her pursuers behind a rumpus of car horns and the red wash of brake-lights. Increasing her speed slightly, she closed the gap to make sure she wasn't unsighted around a curve at a critical juncture.

'Zero, four,' said Katherine thirty seconds later. 'Charlie two on red one toward red two.'

'Zero.'

Becca eased off as they safely merged onto the A90, keeping the hot car as far back as they could.

'Delta has eyes on,' said Mr Brooks as they passed underneath the railway bridge. 'Two-up, potential match to our unknown terrorists.'

Ten seconds later Mr Brooks flashed past them on the other side of the carriageway.

Now that was confirmed, and with Zero monitoring the traffic cams, she could get their hot car off the road. This was the fun bit of the job: racing an unwitting opponent through the handicap of Rome's inner streets while they zipped around the Junction. 'Delta, Four: Hand-off at red three?'

'Roger.'

The name of the game now was to cut deeply enough into Rome to ensure that, when they pulled off, you'd made up enough ground by travelling in a straight line you were there to greet them, despite the added congestion going into Rome caused. With two cars it was fine as you alternated staying relatively close to the road and going deep for distance, but with just one it was a total gamble.

She pulled off at red three and piled on the power, the engine starting to sing as she brutally accelerated down the Fiumucino-Rome motorway. Katherine's report was lost as she communed with her car, urging it faster across the tarmac. The houses on the hill above them looked down on them like disapproving bobbies as they zipped past.

Tonight of all nights, she couldn't afford to meet one.

Zero slowly counted Charlie two through the junctions one red code after another, moving further and further around the clock face in Becca's mind as she shot down one street after another, bulling her way through the evening traffic.

'Are they going to go all the way around?' said Katherine, her face just visible in Becca's wing-mirror.

And risk continued exposure? 'I doubt it. If their destination's much further, they'd have gone the other way around.' Becca suited actions to words, turning up the Via Ardenatina to bring her closer to the ring road.

If he came off the next junction, Charlie two'd be on a head to head with her.

Charlie two stayed on, Becca turning the car down the Via di Vigna Murala and shattering the quiet illusion of rural living as she made her way through the green suburb, overtaking a long line of cars in her best boy-racer impression. If he kept on the GRA, Mr Brooks was going to have to turn off soon, just in case they had spotted the car enough for it to raise flags. That meant relying on the accident prone traffic cameras.

Dropping her speed to let the car passing across the junction get clear, she took a right at the end of the road, setting up for another head to head. Here, at least, there were plenty of roads to parallel and get ahead of a target car.

'Zero. Charlie two continuing toward red thirteen.'

This was looking more and more like flushing a tail. If they weren't careful, they were going to get made. She reduced her speed slightly, giving herself a little more time to manoeuvre if they turned off at the cost of having further to chase when they didn't. Even if the terrorists were doing drills, the GRA wasn't the place to run through them. Were they that incompetent?

'Charlie two intending left onto green seventeen,' said Zero.

Well... they were off the GRA now. Unfortunately, it meant Becca was now going to be forced to expose herself on the warren of Rome's road network. And this was where Katherine lacked the experience to keep reporting their intentions quickly enough to keep up with events. She'd be less of a liability to Mr Brooks, as at least an adult approaching middle age was expected to have a young child: She'd be labelled an underage, underwhelming mother and everything would get more difficult as a result.

At least they didn't have far to go to get back in the chase. 'Four on green seventeen,' said Becca, turning right down the wide boulevard instead of cutting across as she'd intended. There were still cars littering the reservation down the middle, the cooler temperatures pushing activities far past what Mr Brooks considered civilised hours. There was a chance of her missing her quarry behind the parked vehicles, but they couldn't sit and follow from behind as there was too high a chance of them turning off and disappearing again.

Given what might have been at the address they'd staked out, that wasn't an option.

'Delta closing from the rear.'

She drove slowly down the street, both herself and Katherine paying more attention to the oncoming traffic than where they were going. The leather steering-wheel was soothingly cool as she tapped her finger against it. At least this road had some separation between the two lanes, or else the risk of being made in this car would be even higher.

'Four has,' said Katherine as Becca manouvered her way across a busy junction with too many pushy drivers. 'Continuing toward the centre on green 17 and we're unsighted.'

Should she turn and follow... no. Delta had less heat and by the time they turned away there wouldn't be much in it. 'Turning left onto yellow ten,' she added, swinging across the traffic to yet more honking.

As she sped down toward the roundabout, Delta hurried past in her rear-view mirror.

'Delta has eyes on. Still heading up the main drag.'

'Four moving to blue ten.'

'Delta,' acknowledged Mr Brooks.

Driving like an eejit, she'd made it to the roundabout on Orazio Pulvillo when Mr Brooks announced that Charlie one was intending to turn left past the British school, but was currently first in line at the traffic lights. If Mr Brooks followed him down there too it'd really raise a flag. She turned left on the roundabout, evaluating the traffic ahead of her and the duration left on the lights. They were a long way away, but it was doable. 'Four has.'

The complete absence of any pause before Mr Brooks' acknowledgement was even better than the one-on-one time when they practiced breaking and entering.

She went through the junction with green seventeen like a cork out of a champagne bottle, shimmying through the traffic as she jumped the red light. To her right, she could just see Charlie two start to pull out into the junction. But in the backstreets that two hundred odd meters was just too far to be safe.

She took the next turning, flying down the linking road to bring the distance down. Charlie two crossed the road ahead as she approached the next turn. She slowed just enough to safely get the car into the next narrow street before continuing to zig-zag her way closer, managing her speed to just catch Charlie two crossing in front of her as she used the perpendicular road.

As Charlie two reached the end of the road to turn right and head up the side of the rectangle of residential property, Becca hung back, turning to keep paralleling the street their quarry was on. 'Charlie two intending right onto Orange 1.'

'Roger,' said Mr Brooks. 'Going for a head to head.'

She took a right onto the Caio Canuleio, giving her a straight run up to where Charlie two would be pulling out if they continued their present course. Apart from a few people wandering home in the cold night air, the street was apparently empty, most of the windows dark at this time of night.

'Charlie two now stationary,' said Mr Brooks, Becca immediately sliding the car around the turn they were passing, feeling the rear go as she forced it around. 'Unknown bravos foxtrot toward the three square apartment blocks before the church... and I'm unsighted.'

Slamming on the brakes to take the corner to Orange one at a civilian pace, Becca glanced behind her to check on Katherine. This close to home, their targets would be either relaxed and stupid, or as wired and jumpy as hell: A cyborg leaning forward and staring over the side of her seat like a hunting dog was going to give the game away.

'Sit back and stop staring,' she snapped as she turned into the terrorists' road.

Via Lemonia was short and they were on top of the terrorists almost as soon as they started, despite Becca taking it as slow as she dared.

'Bravos entering the apartment on the... south corner,' said Katherine as the terrorists closed the neat black gate behind them and headed down the short garden path toward a door with an intercom box.

'Delta moving to north corner of apartment. Take note of any lights that come on.'

Becca slowed and pulled in by the next apartment along, able to see the street they'd just travelled down behind them and, across the junction they'd just gone through, the other side of the building. Between themselves and Mr Brooks, they had complete coverage: the next set of lights were probably the terrorists.

But if they could see the terrorists, the terrorists could also see them, and both the cars were, if not hot, uncomfortably warm.

A minute and a half later, just long enough to climb four flights of stairs, a light came on in the corner apartment on the fourth floor. As deliriously happy as Katherine was when Becca had her call it in, it was nothing to Becca's elation at not only bringing home the only bacon going, but even being trusted to carry out the vital, difficult op totally unsupervised.

Mr Brooks trusted her judgement.

After ten minutes of apparent inactivity on the terrorists part and no success in finding _St. Louis _on theirs, the call came in. 'All call signs, Zero. Lift off and RTB.'

Becca pulled out like a civvy and made tracks away from the no-longer-safe-house, not really listening to Katherine's excited chatter about how cool it'd be to live over the road from a playground. She luxuriated in the driver's seat and let her hands drift over the black leather steering wheel.

Just for a while, just this once, she'd let her ego feed.

* * *

_E-Group Garage, SWA Compound, near Rome. 20/02/2006._

For once, Becca didn't do a handbrake-turn as she lined up to reverse the car into their parking spot. She didn't have Mr Brooks in the car to act as a shield for her if she needed it and she wasn't going to betray his trust in her through being stupid at the last moment. Once she'd reversed neatly into their bay, she left the engine to settle while she de-activated the flashbang box, cameras and the other electronics hidden throughout the vehicle. In the back, Katherine was already taking her radio out of the pockets sewn into the pink rain-coat.

'I'll finish up here,' said Becca, far too happy to bother with wasting Katherine's time purely for the sake of doing things as a team. 'If you're quick you can catch supper at the canteen.'

Katherine grinned and jumped out the car, slamming the door behind her.

Becca stabbed the window-down button. 'Your equipment comes first!' she called at Katherine's rapidly retreating back.

She wasn't that far behind Katherine, quickly doing the final checks before signing the car back over to the mechanics on the promise that counter-signing the mechanics' car back in would be the very first thing her handler did when he returned.

'Rebecca,' said Miss Ferro as soon as she stepped out of the garage into the drizzle that had been hanging over Rome for the last hour.

Whatever was about to happen wasn't good. She turned to face Miss Ferro, a bulge in her black raincoat showing Miss Ferro _still _had her folder with her, even now. 'Yes Ma'am?'

'I'm to escort you to Director Lorenzo's office,' said Miss Ferro, her voice even more formal than usual.

It was worse. She wasn't daft enough to think she'd be reconditioned over something like driving a car without her handler, but being banned from sitting behind the wheel ever again was more than likely. She was given a lot of slack, her own competence and Mr Brooks' general distaste for having inefficiency foisted on them by bureaucrats creating what some on staff saw as a bit of a monster, but even the Director _had_ to see it was worthwhile. They wouldn't have successfully tailed the men back to their flat if she'd not been capable of acting completely independently of a handler, in her own car. If all else failed, she'd push for a moped: She could legally drive one of those and not having any two-wheeled surveillance, especially in Rome, was a capability gap that needed closing anyway. If she couldn't drive, she was half as useful and that _wasn't acceptable_.

No matter what Mr Brooks would say about it.

She'd marshalled her arguments by the time she entered the Director's office, quashing what was uncomfortably close to _emotional incontinence_. That was the Messers Croce's shtick. _They_ were professional, and they were _pragmatic _and _they were_ _in control_. 'Sir!' she said, forcing herself to stand easy in front of the Director's heavy desk.

'Sit down Rebecca,' said Director Lorenzo, glancing up from the report he was reading.

She sat down in the antique chair, twisting it slightly so she could see the door behind her in the reflection off one of the framed prints on the wall. The Director seemed in no hurry to proceed, choosing instead to busy himself with the report and let the silence loom. It might work on some of the other cyborgs, but her job revolved around being able to endure long, tense waits without them impacting upon her performance at all. All it did was give her more time to refine her arguments.

Director Lorenzo put his pen down like a judge with a gavel. 'You were driving a car this evening.'

'Yes, Sir,' said Rebecca, flicking her gaze from the corona around the lights outside to meet his eyes.

'You are not allowed to drive a car. You are _especially _not allowed to drive a car on a public road, break traffic regulations and drive like a lunatic _without your handler_. What happens when you get pulled over?'

Her handler was there, or close enough to be there if needed. They were surveillance, not a dumb rifle that had to be held and pointed. If they couldn't act independently, they deserved to be reconditioned as they weren't fit for purpose. 'I take the points on my driver's licence, Sir, and then Miss Ferro has them removed from my record when we get back.'

'And if they decide to confiscate the car full of classified equipment?'

This conversation wasn't going in quite the direction she needed. 'I have valid SISDE ID, Sir. I can simply tell them they're not confiscating the car and they're interfering with a national security matter.'

'With your sister in the back?'

'Daughter, Sir. Urgent recall and my husband's going to collect her at the gate.'

'At eighteen?'

'Twenty, Sir.'

She practically felt the clinical gaze that ran over her body. 'Going away from headquarters?'

'It's a secret service, Sir. Unless I have the misfortunate of being stopped _by _SISDE, no-one's in a position to check where I'm going unless they care to call my supervisor on a number I provide. If they call it in to SISDE it comes up as a valid legend with the usual instructions.'

The Director grunted, which she assumed meant that he couldn't say she was wrong, but didn't want to admit it. 'Let's hear it then.'

'Sir?'

'You'll have a perfectly plausible series of explanations that conveniently makes it difficult to censure you.'

The Director clearly expecting her to act just like her handler suffused her body with a glow that'd keep her warm for days. 'We only had the one car, Sir. We had two unknowns at a meeting with some heavy-hitters for Padania; The two unknowns are clearly important, or else they would never have been invited to the meeting. We'd already followed them through one area that was an attempt to dry-clean, then had no choice but to keep them within visual range all the way down the SS1: The car was hot. With the second car, it enabled us to bracket the car between us and hand-off from one to the other, making it less likely it'd be spotted. The chances of us successfully tailing them to the flat without a second car were slim.'

She didn't stress the necessity of managing to tail them successfully given the suspected nuclear material found. It would have been over-egging the pudding.

'And if your handler had to release you from police custody?'

'He wouldn't: I'm expected to wait until someone had the time. And, again, the SISDE card is legitimate: They'd have to call before they did anything other than book me in and I've been in worse places than a police cell.'

Director Lorenzo steepled his hands in front of him, white shirt cuff slipping slightly to show a gold watch-strap. 'And if they ran you through a metal detector?'

Becca smiled. 'I had a terrible moped accident when I was younger. I'm like a female Wolverine.'

The Director stared at her long enough Becca began to wonder if she'd accidentally got too close to her own past. That _was _something she might get reconditioned over. A knock at the door broke the intense scrutiny, both of them turning as Director Lorenzo bid the person to enter.

It was only when Mr Brooks walked into the room when it dawned on Becca that she could simply have said that she was obeying her handler's orders. 'I'll take it from here, Rebecca,' he said, sitting down in the chair next to her.

She hesitated, even as the director nodded his permission. Mr Brooks jerked his head toward the door and she got up, mouthing _moped_ at him as her turn blocked Director Lorenzo's view. She didn't like leaving Mr Brooks to take the heat by himself, but he probably had a better chance of convincing the Director without her.

Once she'd cleaned her pistol and changed into civvies, she hurried to the canteen, just managing to catch the canteen staff before they poured the remnants of the soup tureen down the sink.

She collected a latte from the machine then turned to look for somewhere to sit - and stared.

Henrietta and Rico had Katherine trussed in a chair at the end of their table, a napkin spotted with soup-stains tied around her neck. Becca instinctively turned to catch Eve and Nicolina's eyes. They both shrugged, but it was enough evidence that her eyes weren't lying to her. As she watched, Rico put some tomato soup on her spoon and held it out to Katherine's mouth, Katherine keeping her lips tightly sealed and turning away. Rico kept pushing the spoon toward Katherine's mouth and, grabbing the chance, Katherine pursed her lips and nudged the spoon, tipping the contents out onto the floor.

Even if Katherine was an interloper, Becca had firm limits as to the amount of grief she was willing to subject a member of her team to, and this was the sort of stupidity she'd step in to halt regardless of who it was.

She deposited the tray in her space opposite Eve before striding over to where Katherine was tied into the chair. 'Care to explain what you're doing?' she said in a glacial voice as she plucked Rico's knife from the table and used it to cut the ropes holding Katherine in place.

'We're playing with Katie,' said Rico brightly.

'Is... Katie... playing with you?'

'No!' said Katherine, apparently feeling safe enough with Becca there to risk opening her mouth.

'Get...' Becca trailed off as she lifted Katie out of the seat. Someone - and Becca had a pretty good idea which pair of miscreants it was - had dressed her in a baby-grow. She was intellectually aware that ten year old girls played house and had baby dolls, but she'd never quite made the link to Henrietta and Rico. Becca abruptly realised she was dangling Katherine in the air in front of her, and swung her onto her hip to avoid putting her bare feet down in the spilt soup. 'Get this mess cleared up,' she said as she glared at the pair of them. 'Before I need to tell your handlers about this little escapade.'

'Yes Rebecca,' said Rico meekly, looking down at her bowl of soup.

Henrietta glared up at her from under her fringe. 'You're not my ha –'

Becca turned and left before Henrietta could finish and turn it into a battle of wills. The other options were going to get the handlers, and Becca was neither willing to bother Mr Brooks with Henrietta's irrelevances nor had any idea where Mr Croce was at this time of night. And as much as Becca felt she and the 'Senior' Cyborg would be singing from the same hymn sheet, going to a fourteen year old to compel a nine year old to obey her wasn't something she was prepared to do.

Safe in the knowledge that Katherine was giving the two twerps the evil eye over her shoulder, Becca let herself catch the other girls' eyes, unable to stop the amused grin that came over her face.

'She's so cuute,' said Eve as Becca sat down in the empty chair, manoeuvring Katherine into her lap as she did so.

Katherine scowled across the table, both Nicolina and Eve collapsing into giggles.

'Let's get you out of this, shall we, Katherine?' said Becca, slipping her hands under Katherine's thighs to rearrange her on her lap.

'No, _don't_. They ambushed me in the showers,' she said as they all looked quizzically at her. 'They only left my knickers.'

'You mean they _planned_ this?' Becca couldn't decide whether to laugh or go and complain at Mr Croce. And where on earth had they acquired the baby-grow in the first place?

'Apparently,' said Katherine, the dry, adult precision the salvo was delivered with setting Eve and Nicolina off again.

'At least you're not the baby anymore, Nicolina,' said Eve once she'd got her giggles back under control.

'Have you eaten?' said Becca, ignoring the by-play.

Katherine shook her head. 'No. They carried me in here and tied me to the chair. I wasn't going to be fed like a baby by them.'

Becca sighed. Being the cyborg to the group leader made her the unofficial head cyborg, but this was the first time she'd ever actually _felt _responsible. 'Right... food or a skirt?'

Katherine turned her head slightly, eyeing-up Nicolina and Eve. 'Food,' she said at last.

Oh well, at least Becca had enough contraband stashed away that she wouldn't go hungry, even if her tea would be more based on crackers and chocolate than she'd like. Maybe she should put some of the expenses money she'd stashed toward a mini-fridge. 'Come on then,' she said, breaking a piece off her roll and holding it in front of Katherine. 'You can share mine.'

'So what happened?' she asked the others once Katherine had made a start on the soup, the mittens covering her hands making it an unusually hazardous experience for the rest of them in the vicinity.

They both shrugged. 'You know what it's like,' said Eve, dipping a piece of Becca's bread in the soup and holding it up for Katherine. 'Sometimes they turn a corner and those two seconds are enough to make the car vanish and no-one's going to find it again. I just wish...'

A hand came into view from behind Becca and dropped a set of car keys onto her tray with a rattle. 'Don't annoy the mechanics too much,' said Mr Brooks.

The warm weight of Katherine in her lap would have stopped Becca jumping for joy, but she wasn't like that even if the option was available. 'Will do, Sir,' she said, twisting in her seat to look at him, the faintest gleam of pride in his eyes making her feel like she'd been responsible for the capture of all of Padania's leadership in one fell swoop. Next time she was practicing breaking and entering, Mr Brooks was going to get the biggest hug he'd ever had in his life.

'Are we all okay here?' he said, eyes going from Katherine to her and back again.

'Now,' muttered Katherine.

Mr Brooks looked at Becca and she looked pointedly at Rico and Henrietta, Rico now just about managing to clear up the spilt soup, even if it looked more like she was attempting to turn the cafeteria into a swimming pool. 'Very well. Planning meeting at oh-six hundred, briefing at eight-hundred.'

'Yes Sir,' said Becca on all their behalves.

As soon as he'd gone, Eve and Nicolina looked at her as if she'd slept over at her handler's home. 'Your own car?' said Eve.

Becca shrugged, despite the urge to beam building up inside her. 'We need more cars - you were about to say so yourself.'

'You lucky bi...' Nicolina trailed off, looking at Katherine.

'I know what a bitch is,' said Katherine.

Eve frowned thoughtfully. 'Do you think Callandra would trade se -'

Becca wasn't prepared to have Katherine sharing this conversation, even if she did know all the words. 'Are you finished Katherine?'

Katherine nodded, stuffing the last bit of bread into her mouth.

Becca stood, lifting Katherine onto her hip again in the process. 'Let's get you out of that and find you a pair of shoes. See you tomo - later today,' she said, correcting herself as she caught sight of the canteen clock.

''Night,' said Nicolina as Eve waved bye like a baby, pouting when Katherine didn't respond.

'Do you want to go and find your clothes, or change first?' said Becca as she stepped into the dorms, letting the wind slam the door shut behind her. She went to put Katherine down, but the younger cyborg just clung on tighter. 'What's wrong?'

Katherine grinned at her. 'The floor's cold.'

Becca huffed, but lifted her back up anyway. 'Clothes or change?'

'Change. I'm not letting anyone else see me like this.'

Back in their rooms, Becca put Katherine down on her bed then busied herself with the kettle and tea-leaves. She practically swallowed a custard-cream whole, her stomach placated with the promise of more to follow, before turning back to Katherine, who'd continued with the colouring in she'd been doing before they left earlier, lying on her bed with her legs in the air.

'Ready to get rid of that?'

Katherine rolled upright, lifting her fabric ensconced hands into the air. 'Yes please. Can you help? I can't do the buttons with hands like this.'

'Fiddly?' said Becca, giving Katherine a gentle tug to stand her up. She did look cute, though. It was tempting to put her hair in pigtails and take a picture.

'Yeah.' Katherine shifted her arms as Becca undid the oversized buttons along her right shoulder, the pink top falling open.

Becca knelt down to undo the buttons running up Katherine's inner legs, working her way up until she'd reached the last one over her crotch. 'More practice on the piano then. Your dexterity still isn't where it should be, even with the mittens.'

With the buttons undone, Becca could help Katherine wriggle out of the pink woollen concoction. 'Go and find your clothes, then bed,' she said, turning her attention back to the teapot as Katherine stalked across the room to the wardrobe. 'And don't retaliate: We're not that childish.'

'I'm _four_.'

'You're Mr Brooks' cyborg,' said Becca, turning to fix Katherine with a look. 'We're not that childish.'

'Fine,' said Katherine, yanking out a nightdress, its hanger clattering loudly to the floor.

It was only after Katherine had gone, Becca lounging in a chair with her tea and an apple, that it dawned on her that Katherine wasn't bothered about what _she _thought about the debacle, that Katherine had been comfortable with _her _despite being undressed, that Katherine trusted _her _implicitly to help.

She flushed. Maybe it was time Katherine got a big sister instead of a jealous, spoilt child.


End file.
